


remember me (for centuries)

by riots



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Destroy Ending, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 10:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: When James was a kid, he dreamed about being a hero.  Turns out, the weight of that might be too much for him to carry. Lucky for him, being on the Normandy around some of his own heroes just might be good for him.Vignettes in James Vega's life, from the beginning of Mass Effect 3 past the ending.





	remember me (for centuries)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the mass effect big bang 2018!! biggest thank you to continuousspec for working with me and making [beautiful art](https://spec-sketch.tumblr.com/post/175211839375/james-shudders-into-consciousness-a-scream-stuck) to go with this story, but also shout outs to my beta reading crew and esp to s, my eternal biggest fan

The thing about standing guard is, well, a whole lot of time to think. 

Technically speaking, James is supposed to set up camp at Shepard’s front door. It’s to keep her in and keep some of the crazies out. Galactic saviour or no, turns out some folks aren’t too happy with her for blowing up most of the batarians. 

Doesn’t much matter, though. Shepard’s still got some friends higher up, and her location isn’t too widely known. The most action James has seen in months was that one _really_ persistent reporter. He got pretty close, too, got his friend to fake a call to distract James while he made a play for the room. James had been charging down the hall after him when the man had wrenched open the door and stuck his omnitool under Shepard’s nose. The guy got halfway through babbling his intro when Shepard socked him in the chin. “No comment,” she’d said, and kicked him out the door. It might’ve been the single hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Other than that, though, things are pretty goddamn boring. Shepard is friendly, but distant. Her green eyes get tight whenever he slips up, calls her Commander. Hard habit to quit when you’re faced with the woman who saved the galaxy, y’know, twice. She’s got no line to the outside world, just a couple of datapads loaded with the most innocuous pablum the Alliance can find. He knows she’s going stir crazy. It’s been a good six months, and he’s antsy as hell himself. It’s gotta be worse for her, locked in there, all by herself, nothing but heavily sanitized messages and the occasional drop-in from Admiral Anderson. 

So yeah, he feels sorry for her. Sorrier for himself, but he can spare some of that for her, too. After all, she is Commander Shepard.

And he’s James Vega, still a Lieutenant, despite himself. The uniform doesn’t fit right, not since Fehl Prime, but you don’t argue with a man like Admiral Anderson. If he grabs you by the collar and drags you back home, you just stand up straight and say yessir. It’s not a hard gig, anyway. Doesn’t matter if he watches a door or a camera, Shepard isn’t going anywhere. She turned herself in.

So James stands guard, and he thinks. About mud, and blood, and the smell of ozone cutting through air. He’s beginning to think that some of the old guys got it right. Sometimes these things happen and they just stick with you, take up camp on your shoulders and dig in, breathing in your ear, making sure you never forget. He can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not, honestly.

He’s not the only one. He’s heard the stories about the relay, about the loss of the entire Viper Nebula. It’s hard to tell what’s true and what’s not with the newsfeeds these days, but he sees Shepard sitting on her couch, staring down at her hands. Sure, she doesn’t have a ton to do, but she spends enough time doing it that he figures that she feels that weight too. 

Once upon a time, he wanted to be a hero. He’s pretty sure now that that comes with a cost he’s not strong enough to bear.

Maybe she can, though. He’s grown up a lot, since he was just some kid aiming for the Marines, watching the vids about her stand on Elysium, or the announcement of the first human Spectre, but still. He’s gotta hope she’s still the person he thought she was.

She’s got one hell of an arm, at least.

James’ eyes flick to the monitors out of habit, checking in. Shepard’s reading, or dozing, or some combination of the two. His omnitool chimes. “Lieutenant Vega.”

“Ma’am,” James straightens his shoulders automatically, shifting up in his chair.

“Shepard’s presence is required at the Defense Committee hearing. Immediately. Please escort her to the hall.” The woman’s voice is sharp, strained. Something big is going down.

“Right away,” James agrees, already climbing to his feet and heading down the hall. His stomach shifts uneasily. 

He knocks on the door out of habit, courtesy. You can lock the woman up, but he’s still gonna respect her legacy. “Commander Shepard?” She turns away from the window, eyes curious, and he salutes. 

He’s pretty sure everything’s about to go to hell, but hey, at least he’s not thinking too much anymore.

 

 

Ain’t no time to daydream when there’s a war on, that’s for sure.

The Normandy is something else. He’s never served on a ship like her. Even with nothing but the skeleton crew on their escape from the system, she’s slick as hell. Okay, sure, maybe he got in a bit of a scuffle with the Commander (“sparring”, he says to Steve, when he asks. Steve doesn’t say anything, but his eyebrows sure do), but he’s got his own space down in the cargo bay, he’s working with his boy Esteban, and he’s on the goddamn _Normandy_. Working under Commander Shepard, they’re always gonna be neck deep in the shit.

And that’s - well, that’s what he wants. Keeps his hands busy. Makes him feel useful, when all he can think about is the wreckage of Vancouver, the explosions and the screaming and that goddamn _noise_ the Reapers make. He’s gonna hear that in his sleep for the rest of his life, probably. However long that is.

And Shepard - the Commander isn’t what he expected. Will of steel, sure, and he’s never met anyone with a cooler head in combat. But he never expected her to take him up on his offer to spar, much less show the restraint that she did. As he lay on the ground, chest heaving for breath, she told him she thought he was a good soldier, and pride and anger warred in his chest.

She keeps coming to visit. Seems like her way of burning off the leftover adrenaline after a mission is making the rounds, checking in with everyone. He doesn’t mind it. 

He watches her across the shuttle bay, and he’s impressed when she pulls a smile out of Steve. It’s a bad day for him. James wakes up early, Marine habits, but Steve was up even before he pulled himself off his cot. Nightmares. James has been there. He still hasn’t figured out what to tell a guy who lost the man he loves a matter of months ago, but there’s Shepard, one hand on Steve’s shoulder, melting the tension out of the line of his spine. It’s impressive, honestly. The weight of the entire goddamn galaxy on her shoulders and she’s still coming down here to check in on her grunts. 

“How’re you doing, James?” 

James doesn’t look up from his shotgun for a moment. How’s he doing? His planet is under attack, the politicians won’t do shit, and even Shepard doesn’t seem to be making much headway on getting shit done. “Oh, you know.” It’s a sound filler, but it’s true, too. 

She nods. “That I do.”

The silence stretches and James sighs, turning. “Hey, listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he says. He’s known her for months, but this is the first time he feels like he’s really getting to see her, as a person. Their roles are almost reversed now, and he’s not gonna get anything out of butting heads with his commanding officer. “Think maybe I came on a little strong.”

She lets him squirm for a moment before she nods, smiling a little. “We’re soldiers, and we had to run away from the fight,” she says, and she folds her arms over her chest. “Tensions were high. Trust me, I get it.” And she would. Shepard’s made a career of acting when no one else does. On Elysium, with the rogue Spectre, with the Collectors - when everyone else was arguing over what to do, Shepard just _did_ it.

And she was right in the thick of it when Anderson ordered her off-planet. Yeah, she knew what it was like. And James was being pretty unprofessional. On Mars, all he was doing was whining about how he wasn’t getting to do the fighting, and then the first thing he did was try to get the Commander to take a swing at him, give him an excuse. Like a dumb kid. “You were right,” he says, quieter than he’d planned. “Maybe I’ve been getting reckless.” Without a command, it’s easier to risk everything. He spent a couple months on Omega picking fights with batarians and if he’s honest, this is more of the same. At least now it’s productive. Point him at the Reapers, and he’ll keep swinging til his last breath. But Shepard’s got other plans. 

“You have,” she agrees, but there’s no edge to it. She folds her arms over her chest, leans back against a crate. “Do you trust me, James?”

A loaded question. Trust is vital in combat, sure, but he’s still supposed to follow the chain of command, whether or not he likes it. That’s kind of how the military works. “Commander -”

She’s already shaking her head. “No, honest answer. I don’t want to hear that ‘sir, yes sir’ garbage.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Commander Shepard turned _herself_ in after the tragedy with the Alpha Relay, and then spent six months sitting on a couch when he knows damn sure that she could’ve gotten herself out anytime she wanted. Probably has all sorts of weird shady contacts, thanks to Cerberus. But she didn’t. She put herself in the Alliance’s hands because she knew it was the right thing to do. He has to respect that kind of commitment. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he says.

“Good.” She offers him a smile. “Then trust me.” She holds out her hand to shake, and he’s reminded of that day after Mars, of how she helped him back to his feet after throwing him on the ground. She’s always the first one to reach out. 

He takes it. “You bet, Lola.” He won’t forget this, not anymore.

 

 

Menae is a shit show. They’re further from the fight than Earth, but not a lot. While Shepard runs through the situation with General Corinthus, James tips his head back and looks up at Palaven. Whole swathes of the planet are burning, visible even from up here. It’d almost be pretty, if it wasn’t a fucking nightmare.

He turns back when he hears someone say Shepard’s name. He’s still not great at telling turians apart, but this one is tall, heavily scarred, and the facial markings look familiar. And the way Shepard’s entire face lights up, her shoulders straightening and her smile blinding - yeah, she knows him too. “Garrus!” she says, “you’re alive.” That puts it all into perspective for him. He’d watched every newsvid he could find after the Battle of the Citadel. This has to be Garrus Vakarian, the former C-SEC agent who signed up with her. James takes a step back, looking him over. He’s broader than James expected, but maybe that’s the heavy armour, and he carries his rifle with ease. They’re gonna need every hand they can get in this war, and he looks like he’ll be pretty handy.

Vakarian steps in close to greet Shepard, folding her hand between his. “I’m hard to kill.” His voice dips low, and James suddenly notices the soldiers around them carefully not watching the interaction. “You should know that.” Shepard’s stirred up plenty of shit, but she’s still got a lot of friends. When Major Alenko had helped her back onto the Normandy, she’d been pleased to see him, if wary. When Dr. T’soni had crawled out of that vent, James could see how Shepard relaxed and smiled. But this? This is something else. They’re both in full armour, but there’s something fond and intimate about the way that Shepard’s fingers curl around Vakarian’s. Looks like the tabloids aren’t always off the mark.

“Vakarian, sir - ” James’ eyebrows climb even higher. Exactly how high up in the hierarchy _is_ Vakarian, if he’s got Generals saluting him? 

“At ease, General,” Vakarian replies, a bit awkwardly, like the words don’t quite fit, and James has got his answer. Somehow, it makes him feel a little better, like Vakarian isn’t just some kind of legend from the newsvids. He’s, well. Human is the wrong word. Right sentiment, at least.

Shepard calls him over for an introduction and a handshake, and James sizes Vakarian up. “James, this is Garrus Vakarian. He helped me stop the Collectors. He’s a hell of a soldier.” That catches his notice. He didn’t know Vakarian had been around for the Cerberus stuff. Guy’s got a lot of faith in Shepard. Most everyone they meet seems to. James watched all the vids when she made Spectre, and when they saved the Citadel, and hell, he even had one of those Remember the Normandy badges. He thought he had a pretty good idea of who Shepard was. He’s starting to think he didn’t know the half of it.

They don’t get a chance to chitchat and catch up. There’s a harvester on the field and they’ve got work to do. 

James decides he likes Vakarian about four seconds after he puts a precision shot through an enormous Reaper creature’s eye. 

It might have something to do with how the thing is roaring down the field at him, massive arms tearing chunks out of Menae’s rocky surface as it barrels towards him. James has gone up against those creepy Praetorian things before, but he’s never seen anything like this. Twisted flesh and metal topped by the unsettling bastardized turian head - if he had time to freak out about it, he’d give it very serious consideration. He throws himself behind cover, raising his shotgun to knock down a husk scaling Shepard’s shoulders, and tries to catch his breath. The ground shudders beneath his feet and he just manages to hurl himself out of the way as the Reaper creature slams a fist down on the rock formation he’d hid behind. It’s way too close. He’s got no doubt that this thing is gonna turn him into Marine jam in short order.

He’s scrambling backwards when he hears the crack of a sniper rifle above his head and the creature rears in the air, screaming and crashing backwards into the dirt. James cranes his head back to find Vakarian propped up on a rise a few feet behind him. “Thanks,” he gasps. Vakarian touches his crest in a parody of an Alliance salute. 

James climbs to his feet as Shepard tears apart the last few husks, and they set off to find the Primarch. Yeah, Vakarian isn’t too bad at all. The guy seems practical, level-headed, and he’s got a dry sense of humour. He’s also an incredible shot, which doesn’t hurt. Watching him in the field is a pleasure. And him and Shepard? Well. They move like a well-oiled machine. It’s been months since Shepard turned herself into the Alliance and the two of them still don’t even need _words_. While James is busy wrestling with a couple of husks, Vakarian snaps off an overload program and before the marauder’s shields have finished dropping, Shepard’s hurled enough biotic energy at it to throw it off a cliff. No words, just rhythm. He envies it, a little. 

“C’mon!” Shepard bellows, and when she turns to look at James she isn’t smiling, not exactly. She _is_ glowing, and it isn’t just the biotics. Maybe it’s got something to do with how they can see Victus up ahead, roaring commands at his soldiers, or maybe it’s Vakarian at her six, squeezing off precision shot after shot, but she’s on fire, and it’s making James’ heart race. “Turn up the heat!”

“Yes, ma’am!” James yells back, and he throws himself into the fray again.

 

 

James muscles his way through the crowds on the docks, looking for one person in particular. “Allers!” he calls. Her head swivels, and she begins to fight her way towards him. 

He still doesn’t know her all that well. After Fehl Prime, and his stint as Shepard’s guard, he’s gotten a lot more wary of the press, but he still kinda likes Allers, despite himself. He keeps an eye on the stories she publishes, and he likes how she writes, how she’s always looking for the close-up angle, the little people at the bottom. She seems like she’s one of the good ones.

And she’s _good_ , too. She’s not military, but she doesn’t flinch in a firefight, and he’s watched her stare down a couple of angry batarians. She believes in what she’s doing. It makes him like her more.

It’s why he asked her for help. “Hey, Allers,” he says as she catches up to him. “Anything?”

She purses her lips. “Nothing,” she says, and she sounds as disappointed as he feels. “The only things coming out of Earth are military intel on the QECs, and the Normandy’s already got as direct a line as it gets.” She pulls up some files on her omnitool, sending him what little she’d found. “I’ve still got a contact in LA, but it’s damn near impossible to get anything on civilians right now.” She avoids his eyes. “The devastation is just too great.”

He should’ve known it would be too much to ask for, trying to find out about one ex-military guy in billions, but he still had to hope. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” James says, although he’s already doing just that. “Thanks for trying.”

She gives him a smile. “No problem,” she says. “What’s good for you is good for me. Plus -” she laughs a little, at herself, “it’s nice to be able to help out. You’re all boots on the ground, the front line, getting things done. I’m happy to give a little back to you.”

It leaves him without words, for a moment. The thing about war, the thing you don’t think about, is that sometimes, the craziest stuff is how _kind_ people can be. “Hey, you’re getting the word out there,” he says. “You’re already doing your part.”

“Thanks,” she says. “That’s sweet.” Her drone beeps at her, and she flicks on her omnitool. “Shit! I’m late for my interview.” She grins at him, triumphant. “I got Counselor Sparatus to agree to talk. I _may_ have heavily leveraged Shepard’s name.”

“You do what you gotta do,” James says, and he waves her off. She’s not a big woman, but she moves with determination, and something about it reminds him of Shepard and the way that she can get the crowds to part for her, too. Maybe Allers is a good fit for the Normandy, after all.

Pity she couldn’t get any information. A quick scan of the files shows him nothing he didn’t already know. The Reapers have hit San Diego, devastating much of the city and the resistance down there is scattered. There’s no way to account for all of the people who survived, or worse yet, those who were lost.

James keeps looking for his uncle, though. He’s been tempted to ask EDI if she could help keep an eye out, but that’s probably a misappropriation of Alliance resources or something. He just worries, though.

He never kept in touch the way he should after he left Earth. It was hard, in some ways, to even _want_ to. He was finally out from under his father’s thumb and he was just so excited to be free and, y’know, making something of himself. Doing his part. At least, that’s how he’d thought of it, when he’d enlisted.

After Fehl Prime, it was shame. He didn’t want anyone to remember him, much less what he’d done. It was easier instead to hide on Omega, pick fights and pretend he wasn’t Alliance, not anymore. If he was drunk, he didn’t have to think about how he’d wanted to be a hero, like his uncle, and how badly he’d missed the mark. 

He regrets it, now. Should’ve made sure he knew where his tio was living right before the Reapers hit Earth, would’ve made it so much easier to narrow things down, at least get some confirmation, _anything_. The not knowing was the worst. James remembers Vancouver. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He can’t imagine that San Diego got off easy. 

He’s torn. Hope, isn’t that how you get through? Hope, and tenacity, and sheer cussedness, saying yes, we will survive and we will make it so? Maybe he’s just been spending too much time with Shepard, starting to think that they can change the galaxy with sheer force of will. If anyone could, it’s her.

But he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Foolishness, to hope that everyone’s gonna get through this thing unscathed, that they’re all gonna sail into the sunset and make it out in one piece. Better to keep yourself grounded. This happens, in war. Loss happens. Better not to pretend otherwise.

He closes the files, exhales, and rubs a hand across his eyes. Maybe next week, Allers will have news. He just wants to know.

 

 

 

James shudders into consciousness, a scream stuck at the back of his throat. He’s shaking, sweating, shivering, and the last of his dream clinging to his mind like spiderwebs. It takes him more than a few seconds to blink out of it, to throw off the memories brought back into stark relief by his asshole brain. He can still hear the screams in his ears, and feel the horrible, sick clench of his gut when he swung the controls left.

He sits bolt upright in his bunk, panting for air, the sweat cooling on his skin. Third time this week. The tension is really starting to get to him now. He stares down at his trembling hands and jerks when someone speaks softly from below. “You alright, James?” Traynor, the comms specialist. 

Great, now he’s waking up the rest of the crew. The adrenaline is still burning under his skin, and he knows that he’ll never get back to sleep like this, so he rolls off the top bunk, landing as quietly as he can. “Fine,” he says shortly. He crouches to dig through his locker and doesn’t look up at her. “Go back to sleep.” 

His fingers close on the little box he was looking for, and he straightens again, shifting his bare feet on the cold metal floor. He can see Traynor hesitate, on the verge of saying something more, and he exhales in relief as she lies down again. “Well, alright,” she whispers. 

He can tell she’s never been in the field. Another grunt would know to just roll over and politely ignore it. The thought is kind, though. He pauses at the door as it clicks and slides aside. “Sleep well, Traynor,” he says quietly. In the half-light of the hallway, he can see her smile.

They’re still not running a full complement and the kitchen is empty, which suits James just fine. His shoulders are so tense they ache, and he has no interest in talking about feelings or the war or the goddamn weather or whatever. He doesn’t know who managed to find a teapot somewhere on the Citadel after the mad dash from Earth, but he’s really grateful right about now. He fills it up and sets it to heat and leans back against the counter, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’s so goddamn tired.

“Can’t sleep?” His head jerks up at Shepard’s voice. Caught twice in one night. His mouth twists up in an instinctive smile, but she waves it off. “Me neither. One hell of a headache.” She looks about as bad as he feels, honestly. He spent six months watching her and he’s never seen her look this worn down. Her thick red hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she’s coordinated with some deep purple circles under her eyes. She holds up a pill bottle. “Came down to get some help. Don’t tell Doctor Chakwas.”

James huffs out a laugh. “Cross my heart, yadda yadda,” he says. Her eyes travel from his face down, and another time, it might make him wonder. Right now, though, it’s pretty clear it’s the clinical up-down of a Commander checking up on her soldier and he feels strangely exposed. She knows why he’s up. She’s probably down here for the same reason. Or - well, maybe not. She’s gotta deal with a bunch of diplomats every day now. That’d give anyone a headache.

“What are you making?” she asks, wandering over. “Kinda late for a snack.”

The teapot whistles and James flushes a little. “It’s ah, it’s just tea.” He pulls the teapot off the element and opens a cupboard. “Chamomile. Traded a woman down at the Citadel docks a couple pairs of socks for it.” 

He grabs a mug and raises an eyebrow at Shepard. She shrugs and nods her thanks. “Illegal trading of Alliance property, Lieutenant?” Arms crossed over her chest, Shepard’s mouth creeps up in a smirk. “And in wartime, too. I oughta have you court-martialed.” 

He hands her a steaming mug and then pours his own. “I plead the fifth, Commander.” He’s not even sure she realizes she’s frowning, so he lifts his mug to his lips and takes a sip. “Sorry. Lola.” Just the heat of the mug in his grip and the smell of the chamomile is leaching some of the tightness out of his shoulders. Never fails.

“The last thing I want at this time of night is someone reminding me of my position,” she says, her voice soft, confessional. James doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t, just leans back against the counter and watches her. Shepard’s fingers, long, callused, drum against her teacup. “I never pegged you as a tea-drinker,” she says.

He considers his words carefully. He’s never sure how much of these stories to share. Here, though, now, with the open, thoughtful way Shepard’s looking at him, he thinks maybe it’s all of it. “When I was a kid, whenever I woke up from, y’know, in the middle of the night, my ma would make me some of this.” He looks down at the teabag slowly circulating in his mug. “We’d stay up, and she’d tell me stories until I got sleepy again.” It’s not the same, but something about the taste always brings him back to that. His legs folded up underneath him, his mama’s voice soft and warm, sleep curling back around him. It’s working, now.

Shepard offers him the first unguarded smile he’s ever seen directed at him, and for a moment, his voice just dies. “You’re sentimental,” she says, fascinated. It’s not an insult. “I’ve known you most of a year, and this is about the first time you’ve said anything about family.”

He flushes. “I’m not sentimental. I’m _not_!” he protests, and she laughs, loud in the empty kitchen. “Hey. Don’t spread that around. You’ll ruin my rep.” 

“No promises,” she tells him. Her smile fades a little, and she lifts her mug in acknowledgement. “Thanks for this.”

It takes him a moment to realize that he’s actually relaxed again. Once he finishes this tea, he could probably climb back in his bunk and knock out for a few hours. He doesn’t think it’s all the chamomile. “No problem, Lola,” he says, and her grin is bright and fond.

 

 

James sighs when the C-SEC officers wave him over after he walks through the sensors. “Really, guys? C’mon. You know me.” The Normandy’s been docked at the Citadel for a couple of days now, with Shepard mired in a situation with a Hanar ambassador, and there was no way James was gonna hang around the ship twiddling his thumbs. Better poker games down here, anyway.

“Policy,” the turian officer sneers, like he doesn’t know James is assigned to the Normandy, or that he’s seen him four times the past three days. “Arms out.”

James spends a good couple of seconds considering making a scene, but honestly, tensions are high enough at the docks. The clerk manning the entry allowances looks harried and exhausted as she fields three separate refugees trying to argue their cases. Easier just to let the C-SEC prick get his jollies and then head in. “Yeah, sure, you got it, pal.”

It takes the guy way longer than necessary, and there was a harrowing moment where he was a little worried things were gonna get precarious below the belt, but he’s soon free to head into the docks.

Saying he ‘likes it down here’ might be a bit of a stretch, but it’s miles better than the Presidium is. He walks down the docking bays, past a couple of shipping containers packed full of human refugees. There’s a man on a bench weeping steadily, the silent, shuddering, helpless kind of crying that comes with a grief you can’t shake off. James politely looks away. Sometimes, you just can’t help a thing.

It’s honest, though. That’s what he likes. Up top, folks are more likely to ask about like, whatever weird asari vegetable is in season than the war raging outside their system. Down here? The batarians hurl curses at him as he passes, threats hissed under their breath. They see Alliance insignia and they _hate_ him. He doesn’t blame them. He doesn’t blame Shepard, either, but he doesn’t blame them. 

He slides past the batarians and the turians and settles in at a battered old poker table tucked into a corner. “Hey guys,” he says, and he’s greeted with as close as he’ll get to a rousing hello down here.

In the months since Shepard dragged their asses back from Earth, James has gotten a chance to know these people. The dealer is a woman from a colony in Sigurd’s Cradle who lost her family after Reapers destroyed her planet. She doesn’t talk much. On the other end of the spectrum, the person on her left speaks too much, their nervous chatter filling the gaps and covering for how they flinch every time someone moves too quickly. They’ve even got a batarian to round out their group. He seems pretty okay with James, but it might have something to do with how he’s been fleecing James blind. “You’re late,” Jatek rumbles at him, scowling a little. He holds out his hand and James rummages in his pocket, coming out with a crumpled bag of batarian sweets. He’d had to bribe Steve with a bottle of pretty nice tequila to get it shipped in. Worth it, though. He drops it in Jatek’s outstretched hand and watches him squirrel it away. Jatek’s got a daughter.

“C-SEC.” James shrugs, and the woman starts to deal, fast, efficient. “You know how it is. Pretty soon, they won’t even let the in Commander down here.”

Jatek snorts derisively, and next to him, Solo, their other poker partner, launches into a story about how they met Shepard once in a Citadel shop. James lets their story wash over him as he picks up his cards and leans forward, getting ready to play.

A couple hours, a couple rounds, and _more_ than a couple credits later, a big taloned hand settles on his shoulder. “I didn’t know you were a gambling man, Lieutenant,” Vakarian says, looking down at him. When James’ brow furrows, Vakarian nods down at his omnitool. “You should check your messages. Shepard wants us back on board ASAP.”

“He’s a losing man,” Solo crows, and they rake away the rest of his chips with their hands, laughing.

“ _Mierda_ ,” James whines, and even their dealer smiles at him when he flicks his lone remaining chip to her. “I’m out, folks. Catch you later.”

As the two of them make their way back through the docks, James looks up at Vakarian. “What are you doing down here?” he asks.

Vakarian gestures at the cluster of turians tucked between a handful of shipping containers. “Trying to make myself useful.” He laughs dryly, and James realizes that that flick of his mandibles must be amusement. “My name carries a certain amount of recognition now, and I might as well use it to get these soldiers fed and looked after.”

“I hear ya.” Most of the folks on the Citadel he reaches out to, the merchants or the medics, are more amenable to helping when he name-drops the Normandy. “Hey, let me know if I can help, alright?”

“I will,” Vakarian says. He pauses. “I’ve seen you a few times down here. Is this where you’ve been coming on shore leave?” 

James makes a point of waving enthusiastically at the security guys as they pass. “Yeah, here, Purgatory, wherever. As long as it isn’t up there with the diplomats.”

Vakarian hums. James has never realized it, but his subvocals are warm. He never figured he’d think a turian was warm. “You know, you’re good with people,” Vakarian says. 

“I guess,” James says cautiously. He’s never much thought of it that way. He just - he likes people. The little people, the ones the big fish forget about when they’re busy trying to win the war. It might as well be him who remembers. Sometimes, their problems seem more fixable. Shepard can handle trying to end the genophage, he’s gonna find Jatek’s kid some socks. 

“You made friends with a _batarian_ ,” Vakarian laughs. “After what happened on Aratoht, I would have thought that’d be a tough feat. And you pulled it off.” He tips his head. “Uniting the races. That’s impressive.”

James doesn’t expect the way the compliment fills his chest. “I’m no Shepard,” he begins, but Vakarian waves him off. “Thanks, Vakarian.”

“You should really call me Garrus,” he says, and James offers him his hand once more. They shake.

“James,” he says, and Garrus’ mandibles flare, pleased.

Shit. James is over here climbing the turian hierarchy, and all he had to do was play some poker. He almost laughs to himself. If generals start saluting him, he’s gonna have to start pinching himself. 

 

 

Shepard looks up as James raps his knuckles against the door. “Knock knock,” he says, and tries not to think too hard about the purple circles beneath her eyes or how pale and drawn she looks. “Hey, uh, Chakwas sent me up with some food.” He holds out the tray. Military reg garbage isn’t exactly that tasty, but it will keep you going.

“What time is it?” Shepard scrubs a hand over her eyes. “Damn. I guess you’re probably right. I can’t survive _entirely_ on rage at the politicians.” She clears a spot among the mess at her table and gestures for him to come join her. “Got a minute? I could use an excuse not to reply to these messages.”

James shoves aside a few datapads and sits down. “Sure, why not?” he says. He watches her shovel in a few bites, clearly ravenous (seriously, when did she last take a minute to eat?) and grimace at the taste. “How goes saving the world?”

“About what you’d expect,” Shepard sighs, and licks at the back of her fork.“If I have to field one more message from the Dalatrass about what a mistake I’m making, I may just have to pack us all up and, I don’t know, sail into the unknown.” Hero of the galaxy and she still eats like it’ll be taken from her, shoulders hunched over her plate and every last bit of food consumed. It reminds him that she grew up in the slums back on Earth. Crazy how that stuff just marks you. 

“You could take a break?” James suggests. Shepard snorts. “Seriously. The genophage has been around for centuries. It’s not going anywhere.” She shoots him a sour look and he spreads his hands. “Joker and I have a running poker game in the lounge. Bet you could spare a moment to come kick our asses.” He’d totally rob her blind, but she doesn’t need to know that.

That pulls a real smile from her, warm and tired and wistful. “I wish,” she says. “I really do have to get through some of this stuff tonight.” She holds up a datapad. “I spent years trying to get the Council to pay me some attention, and now I probably have contacts from every diplomat to the Citadel from the past century.”

“A lesser woman would use those contacts for evil,” he points out.

“Curse my morals,” she sighs. Nothing’s gonna erase the tension from her face except a good week of restful sleep and, y’know, the weight of the galaxy off her shoulders. Still, she looks a little better with a full belly of food. She slides her plate away and eyes the datapads. “Hey, you wanna watch a vid?”

James blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

“I need to turn my brain off for a bit,” she says. She opens up her omnitool and starts scrolling through files. “Something dumb and smashy. There’s that awful new Blasto, that could work. Or this new horror one, about a turian reporter? Looks good.”

“I, uh.” James feels a little bit out of his depth. He gets along well with Shepard, he always has, but he never like, expected to be hanging out alone with her in her quarters late at night. Makes him nervous. “You sure you don’t want me to go get Garrus?”

“Garrus?” Shepard’s hands pause over her wrist. The confused twist of her eyebrows soften into amusement. “Are you afraid to be alone with me, James?” She gets this look on her face when she’s flirting, hooded eyelids and crooked smile. It makes him hot all over. Not that he wants her to know.

“No!” James protests, and she laughs. He always ends up on the defense with her. He said once, that since he’s been in combat with her, he knows that she’s human. She’s _real_. And somehow, that makes her even more attractive to him. James straightens up, tries to remember that she’s _Commander Shepard_ , hero and his commanding officer. It’s not as effective as he wants it to be. “I’m just - I don’t know, I figured you’d rather be hanging out with one of your old buddies.”

Shepard sighs and her eyes slide away from his. “Well, I thought we were friends, too,” she says. Her mouth tightens and her hands curl in on themselves. “Sorry. Listen, if you’re not comfortable -”

James regrets it immediately. Weight of the galaxy on her shoulders, and all she’s asking for is a friend, someone to hang out with. He can do that. He’s always been good at that. “Nah, no.” He shifts back, deliberately making himself comfortable on her couch. “Just figured you’d want your big turian comfort blanket around for all the spooky stuff.”

He’d have been disappointed if she didn’t understand what he was doing, but she smiles again, smaller, genuine. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she says, tone confessional as she folds her legs up underneath her. “He _hates_ scary movies. Jump scares unsettle him.” A flick of her hand brings up the vid on the wall behind her bed. “You should have seen him, the first time we found rachni.” The orange glow of the haptic screen emphasizes how exhausted she is, draws her dark circles in stark contrast. She rolls her shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension, and he wishes she’d just get some _rest_.

“This is one of the greatest things I’ve heard.” James throws back his head and laughs. “Archangel, afraid of spiders. Shit.” He’s warming to this idea, watching Shepard queue up the vid. “You know I’m totally gonna hold this one over his head forever, right?”

“Good,” Shepard says. “Someone’s got to keep his ego in check.”

“Alright,” he says. “Less chatter, more scary shit. EDI, can you bring down the lights?” He flashes a grin at Shepard. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”

Shepard scoffs. “If you need to hold my hand, Vega, all you’ve got to do is ask.” 

When Dr. Chakwas asked him to come up here with a tray, he figured best case, he’d be able to talk Shepard into looking after herself. This wasn’t even on his radar. He’s had commanding officers who were all buddy-buddy, but this is a little different. Shepard’s interested in her whole crew, and not just keeping them functioning. He caught her talking to Traynor the other day about her family, about what brought her to the Alliance, genuinely listening. It’s a good feeling, realizing he’s on that short list of folks Shepard’s willing to reach out to, when she needs to. He likes it.

 

 

“Fielding an avalanche of civilian SOS requests,” Steve says, and James swallows, pulling out his shotgun. “Are you ready for this?”

Is he ready for this? Shepard’s neck-deep in diplomatic crap, so she’d asked him to take the lead on this mission. He’s had other commands since Fehl Prime, but not a lot. He’d hit a downward slide that had ended in Omega, and honestly, that’s not really a great track record. But Admiral Hackett kept paging the Normandy with fetch missions, and someone had to help, so here he was.

“Oh, yeah,” James says, and Steve snorts. “Ready and raring, Esteban. Lemme at ‘em.”

Steve spares a moment to knock his knuckles against James’ armour. “Go get them, tiger,” he tells him. 

“Yeah,” James says. “Thanks.”

He turns back to the door of the shuttle as Steve brings them down. Garrus is adjusting the settings on his sniper rifle one last time, and next to him, EDI waits, hands folded carefully behind her back. “Looks like we’ve got some folks pinned on the upper street,” Steve calls over his shoulder.

Right. James takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. When he looks up again, Garrus gives him a little nod. It’s amazing how much that little gesture helps. “Alright,” James says. “Drop us off up here, then see if you can’t run a little interference with the Cerberus shuttles, draw them off.”

“You got it.” The Kodiak coasts to a stop and Garrus punches the latch to open the door. “Good luck.” 

Benning is a goddamn warzone. From half a block away, James can hear someone screaming and the rattle of gunfire and it gives him a place to start. “Let’s do this,” James says, and the noisy click of Garrus switching ammo types is really all the answer he needs. “Let’s give them something that shoots back.”

Cerberus is dug in deep. They round the corner and it’s only Garrus’ hand on his pauldron that stops him from charging headfirst into a nest of turrets. “Madre!” he mutters, scowling. “We can’t get the civvies out until we get rid of these assholes. EDI! Skirt through those buildings and flank them. Garrus -”

He’s got a hand raised to direct him but Garrus is already dashing across the street to a higher vantage point. “On it,” he says, and James has to take a second to stare at him. “I’ve got you covered.” And without James even saying a word. That’s...impressive.

“I am in position,” EDI reports, and James can only see the curve of her shoulder because he’s looking. 

This isn’t his first time in combat. It’s not even his first time against a bunch of Cerberus scumbags. His hands are steady, his head is clear. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have that nervous flutter in his gut. He can do a rescue mission. Shepard wouldn’t have given him the task if she didn’t think so. Still, something about it feels important. It’s a second chance he’s not sure he deserves. She’s depending on him. He’s gotta make it count. “Alright, folks, let’s do this.”

A tap on his omnitool activates his armour reinforcements, and James pivots to take aim at the turrets. His potshots at the nearest turret aren’t really meant to do much other than draw fire, but it’s working. The machines swing to him, giving EDI the room she needs to jump down behind them and take down a couple of thugs. 

Behind him, the solid twang of Garrus’ sniper rifle providing cover sets an easy rhythm for them and James can focus on what he’s doing, not the uneasy shift in his belly. Turret fire rattles down the narrow street and James ducks again, listening for the crack of Garrus’ rifle and the answering squawk of a downed engineer. James thinks about the first time he met Garrus, and Shepard calling him ‘a hell of a soldier’. He’s pretty sure that’s why she sent Garrus with him, now. She’s definitely not wrong. Garrus reads the movement of James’ shoulders like it’s nothing, snaps off an overload program to short out the last turret so that James can charge into the street and blow the shit out of it. It’s a good feeling, knowing that he can rely on him. Makes this whole mission feel a lot less precarious.

“We are clear,” EDI calls, dropping lightly onto the street and ensuring she’s right with a quick double-tap on the last Cerberus goon. “I suggest we find the civilians before reinforcements arrive.”

EDI had been his choice for the mission. Part of it had been practical - she’s perfectly relaxed in tough situations, has incredible aim, and has no problem with following orders - but honestly, part of it was just cause he _likes_ her. EDI doesn’t really, well, have expressions, but when he’d asked her to join them, she’d paused before answering. “You are certain you wish to bring me to the field?” she’d asked. “You show a marked increase in proficiency when you are in combat with those you are friends with.”

She wasn’t wrong. Maybe feelings could be weakness in the field, but James has always worked best with his friends. He knows them, he trusts them, and it’s just _better_ , when you gel. “You’re right,” he’d said, and he’d given her a second.

“Oh.” Strange to think he’d get fond of the face of a robot when he’s watched it bash a guy’s head in, but there he’d been, watching EDI tilt her head the way she did when she was pleased. “I see. Thank you. I will see you in the cargo bay.”

He’d given her shoulder a friendly pat. “See you down there.”

And it’d been a good choice. Aware of how she might look to the scared civvies they’re here to look after, she doesn’t approach them. Instead, at James’ nod, she stands on lookout, monitoring their escape route. “Good work, EDI,” he tells her, and she acknowledges it with the approximation of a smile.

“There are further Cerberus attack squads higher up,” she tells him, and his eyes flick up to follow her gaze. Nothing to be seen, of course: she’s monitoring with her warfare suite from above. Handy. “With your permission, I can scramble their communications to slow them down.”

“Do it,” James says, and then he and Garrus head off at a run, towards the last place they’d heard the civilians. 

A big ole turian is one hell of an effective way to say ‘not Cerberus’, and the two women crawl out of cover when they see them approach. “Oh thank God,” one says, her voice wobbly. She clutches at Garrus’ arm, and James smothers a half-smile when Garrus’ mandibles flare nervously.

“We’re -” James starts, but the words die in his throat when he thinks of another mission, and some promises he couldn’t keep. The thought is a bit paralyzing. _No_. He licks his lips, starts again. “I’m Lieutenant James Vega of the SSV Normandy. We’ve come to help you,” he says, because that’s a truth, and it’s not a promise. “Are you able to run?”

“I twisted my ankle,” the other woman says, “but I can walk.”

He can work with that. “Alright,” he says. “I need you to stay put while we clear the way. Can you do that?”

Garrus gently extricates himself from the first woman. “They’re killing everyone,” she whispers, but she helps her friend to her feet.

“We’ll get you out of here,” Garrus says, and not for the first time, James appreciates the warm tone of his subvocals. “We’re good at these things.” 

He looks at James for support, but James can’t figure out how to reply, so he doesn’t. “Steve,” he says, one hand to the comm in his ear. “Bring the shuttle around. We’ve got some passengers to get out of here.”

“Roger that,” Steve replies, and then - “You’ve got another squad closing on your position. I can’t bring it down before you take them out.”

Shit. “Got it. We’re on it.” He turns to Garrus, who gives him a nod, and he pulls out his shotgun again.

EDI is already ahead of the Cerberus squad dropping in on top of them, the sharp rattle of her SMG loud in the empty street. Garrus takes up camp in front of the civilians, leaving James free to hit the street, blasting the nearest trooper in the chest. These aren’t Cerberus’ top tier men, but there _are_ a lot of them, and it takes time to clean the upper street of them. It’s easier when they haven’t had the chance to set up their mobile shields, and even though James gets clipped with a couple of shots when his shields are down, they’re pretty efficient.

Straightening up from behind cover, he twists to gesture the civilians forward. “C’mon,” he bellows, and they bolt forward and race towards the waiting shuttle. “Let’s go.”

EDI is helping the women onto the shuttle when James hears the distinctive _thunk-hiss_ of a rocket being fired from behind him. His heart just about stops in his chest. _Steve_. He whirls around just as Garrus lunges at the Cerberus thug, shoving the missile launcher hard to the side. The missile goes wild and shoots off to smash into a building nearby and only then can James breathe again. Garrus punches the trooper hard enough that his head bounces off the pavement when he hits the ground, and he follows it up with a quick one-two from his assault rifle. “That was close,” Garrus says, relief in the stretch of his mandibles.

Gritting his teeth, James turns away. He’s furious with himself, and embarrassed. Shepard gives him a command and he uses this opportunity to nearly get his best friend killed. Maybe he just isn’t any good at this leading thing. Good soldier, bad leader. He should’ve _seen_ that. His cheeks are hot and he forces himself to focus on holstering his shotgun. “It was,” he mutters. 

“Hey. James.” Garrus grabs his wrist and James looks up at him. He’s honestly not sure he’s ever heard Garrus use his first name before. “You did good.” James scoffs, and Garrus shakes his head, his mandibles flicking in annoyance. “No, you _did_.” He glances down and realizes he’s still holding on to James, and he drops his hand, stepping back. “Listen, we’re at war.” He gestures up at the sky. “ _And_ you’re on the Normandy now, so you had better get used to near escapes. We specialize in those.” James laughs humourlessly, but the tightness of his chest is easing. “We saved those civilians. We got out alive. That’s a win, James.”

Yeah, maybe. “Get on the shuttle, Vakarian,” he says, and Garrus chuckles, raising his hands in surrender. “We’ve got more civvies to get to.”

“Roger that, Lieutenant.”

As they head out of the city to drop off the civilians, James grabs a seat in the shuttle and leans back, watching Garrus. His anger with himself isn’t gone, it’s still sunk in the pit of his gut with the shame and embarrassment. If Garrus hadn’t been there to pick up his slack, he could’ve sent Steve, and the civilians for that matter, crashing down to the ground. That’s on him.

But the thing is, he did have Garrus. It still feels shitty, having missed such an obvious hole in their defense, but isn’t that what he was here for? To cover his six? Garrus realizes he’s being watched and he tips his chin up, gives James a nod. James smiles back at him, tight and small but _real_ , and some of that tension eases up just a little bit more.

 

 

Now this, this is war. 

“I hope you’re ready for this!” James calls across the arena. He’s tucked himself into a nice bit of cover for the start of the match, heat clips handily placed nearby. He won’t stay here long, but he likes to get a match off on the right foot. Gotta set yourself up for success.

“Oh, I was _born_ ready,” Shepard replies. Her voice echoes across the room and above them, the spectators roar in approval. She’s not even bothering with cover, her rifle in one hand and her chin lifted. She looks so goddamn heroic. Seems a little unfair. She’s already got everyone on her side and he’s trying to regain his high score glory. 

The countdown begins to chime, and James rolls his shoulders, raising his shotgun in preparation. Doesn’t matter if the spectators are on her side. There’s a reckoning coming, and he’s taking her _down_.

They’ve gone with Cerberus today, because there isn’t a whole lot more satisfying than beating on a bunch of Cerberus goons. James fucking loves the arcade. Combat is fun, but it’s a lot more fun when the only thing at stake is his pride. Don’t get him wrong, those are still some high stakes, but with a little less death. Maybe some suffering, though, cause Shepard should definitely lose, and therefore suffer.

It might be a competition, but James loves fighting at Shepard’s side, too. There’s an easy rhythm to it, and in a no-risk situation like this, it’s damn near a joy. There’s a reason she made N7 so young. She’s fast and agile, throwing herself around the arena and barreling through troopers like she was made for it.

James is so busy watching her work that he nearly gets himself brained by a Cerberus goon flanking him. He’s only got a minute to knock the guy down and hurl himself out of the way as Shepard charges by him. Before he’s got a chance to finish off the trooper, she snaps a heel down on the guy’s throat and claims the kill. He squawks as her point count climbs. “Not fair!”

“You snooze, you lose,” she says with a shrug, grinning at him. She intercepts another trooper before he can raise his weapon and she pats him on the shoulder. “You need a hand there, James?”

“Don’t need nobody’s help,” James grunts, and his brow furrows in determination. She is _not_ taking this round from him. Shotgun in hand, he heads around cover and sprints across the arena to clear out the rest of the enemies.

She takes the round. When the announcer calls out the final score, James is sprawled out on his back, cursing and breathing hard while Shepard raises a hand to the kids watching and smiles. “Don’t take it too hard,” she says, reaching down to help him to his feet. “I’m kind of a professional.”

“Only kind of,” he grumbles. Still, It’s hard to be too sore when she’s grinning like that, easy and wild and happy, for once not carrying the weight of the galaxy. “You know, you make it hard for a guy to feel good about himself, winning everything like this.”

She surprises him with an arm slung over his shoulder as the two of them walk out of the arena to the locker room. “Aw, don’t say that, James,” she says, her gaze getting heavy-lidded and hot. “You’ve got _plenty_ of other qualities.” Thank God he can pass off this flush as exertion.

They start to strip out of their armour, and James stretches his arms over his head when he’s freed of his chestplate, groaning at the satisfying burn. Nothing like a good workout. “I didn’t know you noticed, Lola,” he teases.

“Of course I do,” she says, and he looks up at her, startled by the sudden, sober turn of her voice. “I’m glad I’ve got you on my team. You’re a great soldier.”

Yeah. Sure. Great soldier. Lost his entire squad on Fehl Prime and nearly lost his best friend on Benning, but he’s _real_ good at his job. James clears his throat, glancing at the door. He’s just glad they’re the last round of the night, and the arena takes locker room security real serious. He doesn’t need anyone overhearing this. “That why you sent Scars down to Benning with me? Because I’m _good_? Or cause you thought I needed supervision?”

Shepard frowns, hands pausing on her greaves. “Wait, what?” she asks.

“It’s fine,” he says, turning away, shaking his head. It’s hard to focus on unbuckling his leg plates, now. “I get it. I don’t have a great track record.”

“Are you serious?” Shepard knocks her knuckles against his bare shoulder and he glances back at her. Her face is frustrated and confused. “I sent Garrus because there’s nobody I trust more to have my six, so I wanted him to have _yours_.” 

“Good thing you did.” The buckles finally give and his armour hits the ground with a clatter. “Nearly got Steve blown up cause I wasn’t paying attention. Garrus saved our asses.”

Shepard rubs her forehead and then sits down heavily, staring up at him. “James,” she says, “do you have _any_ idea how many times Garrus has saved my ass? Like, ballpark it.” He shakes his head. “Exactly!”

“I don’t know what -”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’ve got weaknesses, James. We all do. That’s the point of a good squad. They make up for that.” She laughs a little. “You’re like me: you like to get right in the middle of a fight, you like to cause a ruckus. That’s why you bring Garrus with you. He’s a killer shot, a cool head in battle, and he’ll always look after you when you’ve got your head down in the fray.”

Oh. “Huh. Never thought about it like that.” Some of the tension he’s been carrying since Benning starts to unknot itself in his belly. 

“I know,” she says, and now she’s smiling again. “Look, I don’t know if anyone told you, but you’re part of the Normandy’s crew and we do near-misses better than anyone.” Before he can say anything, she holds up a hand. “Hold on. Let me get my pep talk out of my system, then we can go.”

James starts packing away the rest of his armour. “Okay, okay,” he says, the corners of his mouth creeping up.

“Fehl Prime was a nightmare, I get it.” Her eyes tighten and shift away from him for a second. “Trust me, I _get_ it. But you can’t let it colour the rest of your life.” She stands again, folds her arms over her chest. “A near-miss is still a miss. A close escape is still an escape. If you and your squad finish the job and make it out, it doesn’t matter who took the killshot, and it doesn’t matter how close it was. It’s a win.” She tips her head, eyes fond. “Take it. Celebrate it. It’s worth it.” She nods and then squeezes his shoulder again. “Benning was a solid mission. So relax about it.”

James doesn’t really know what to do with himself right now. He’s always gotten along with his superiors, never really had a problem with them, but as usual, Commander Shepard is a whole different class. He feels embarrassed, pleased, and proud, all at once. “Thanks, Lola,” he says quietly. She grins at him and turns to gather up her own armour. “One question, though.”

“Yeah?”

“You ever tell Garrus that it doesn’t matter who takes the killshot?” She’s got her shirt halfway over her head and he laughs when she scowls at him through the collar.

“I’ll have you know that we’re neck and neck,” she insists, pulling down her top. “And it doesn’t matter. Except I’m winning.”

“Sure, Lola,” he says amiably. “Whatever you say.” Back in their civvies, armour ready to be shipped back to the ship, he offers his arm to her. “Apollo’s?” 

She takes it. “Wouldn’t do to keep Garrus waiting,” she agrees. “He’s going to be so jealous that he missed out.”

The crowds are thinning out up above, trickling out to head home for the night. No such plans for them. “His fault for getting all important in the Hierarchy.” James pulls a face. “Politicians. Ugh.”

“Next time, you and me against him,” Shepard suggests. “Close-range versus long-range. We’ll see who comes out on top.”

“That’s not even fair,” James laughs, and she squeezes his arm. “I like how you think.”

“Good.” She waves at the ticketsellers closing up shop, says goodbye to each by name. “Now let’s get out of here. I hear a barstool calling my name.” 

“Amen, Lola,” James agrees, and he lets her pull him out of the arena into the night. 

 

 

James knows better than to argue with Shepard. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t _want_ to. He watches Steve hold out his omnitool, shouting questions to Shepard, and turns his head towards Garrus. “Is it just me, or is this the craziest goddamn idea she’s had?” he asks.

Garrus just sighs heavily, raising one hand helplessly and shaking his head. “It’s reckless,” he says quietly, not quite meeting James’ eyes while he fidgets with his sniper rifle. “It’s reckless, ill-advised, and completely insane -” He raises his gun to squeeze off a round, knocking down a husk. “And it’s our only option.”

He’s right. James hates it, but Garrus is definitely right. “Well, one of us could go instead.” James thought he’d switched their comms off, but behind the Titan’s hatch, Shepard lifts her chin and raises an eyebrow. “Hey, it was just a suggestion. You being the one, y’know, uniting all the races and saving the galaxy and all.” 

Her voice sounds tinny, caught in the Titan’s cockpit. “You think the _better_ idea is to send my favourite jar-head to the bottom of the ocean to negotiate with an ancient, Reaper-killing race that’s survived for millions of years?” She already looks wiped out, hair damp with the rain and sea-spray, and she’s still about ready to throw herself off a ship to save the rest of them, and help this war. He’s getting real sick of all these uncomfortable truths getting thrown around. “I’d like us to all come out of this alive, James.”

“My feelings are hurt,” he calls to her, turning to catch a couple of cannibals creeping up with some incendiary rounds. Beside him, Garrus’ mandibles flare in amusement. 

He doesn’t bother to suggest Garrus - yeah, sure, maybe he could do it too. He and Shepard have always seemed to be cut from the same stubborn, determined cloth. But Shepard would never go for it. If _anyone_ is gonna take that risk, she’s gonna pull the ‘commanding officer’ card and make sure it’s her, not him. James doesn’t blame her, really. He’d probably do the same. It’s always easier to be the one running headfirst into certain death than watching someone else do it. His gaze shifts from Garrus, frowning, shoulders tense, back up to Shepard, cycling through the Titan’s haptic controls. Her lips are pressed into a thin line.

Before he’s got a chance to try to talk Shepard out of it, Steve is okaying the Titan’s seaworthiness, and they’re pretty committed to this now. James hears the click of comms disabling as Garrus steps over to speak with her. They’re metres apart but there’s still something intimate about the way they look at each other. James is no expert on turians, for sure, but he knows the vulnerability in the way that Garrus tips his head, and the resignation is written all over Shepard’s face. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but James turns away anyway. Feels like he’s intruding.

He turns back when he hears the Titan’s hatch thud into place, and the enormous, ponderous steps of Shepard steering the mech towards the water’s edge. They’ve just cleared the surface of the old mining vessel, and already there are more Reaper creatures screaming through the sky towards them. “Dios, I hate this place,” James mutters.

Garrus steps up next to him, back straight as they watch Shepard march into the sea. “You and me both,” Garrus says, subvocals tense. He doesn’t flinch when she drops into the water with barely a splash. 

Steve scrambles up towards the shuttle. “I’m going to need to rewire the Kodiak to account for the missing power cells.” He’s always been real good at keeping busy. James squares his shoulders and turns back towards the rear of the ship, where they landed. Husks are running to meet them. “Do me a favour and keep them off my back.”

“Do a little fancy flying and you think you’re in charge, Esteban.” James clicks his tongue and he’s rewarded with Steve’s laugh and a quiet huff of amusement from Garrus. “Alright, alright, I guess we’ll do the heavy lifting.”

Garrus is efficient and practical as ever - he doesn’t waste time dropping to one knee and setting himself up with a good view to pick off Reaper creatures. He _is_ silent, though, his humour sinking somewhere down to the bottom of the sea with Shepard. That’s fair. Still makes James worry, though.

“You ever wonder if we’re cursed?” he asks casually. He ducks under a rattle of fire and squeezes off a few rounds in return. 

Garrus twists to look at him, mandibles shifting, bemused. “I - don’t know? Is this some sort of human thing I’m missing out on?” Sea spray drips down the blue flicker of his visor.

There’s a clatter of something being tossed away behind them. “Nope,” Steve calls. “That’s all Mr. Vega.”

“Okay, hear me out,” James says, and he’s pleased to see the hunch of Garrus’ shoulders ease. He’s listening. “How many times have we done some kind of ‘routine’ mission and then: surprise! Reapers.” He pauses. “Or Cerberus. Man, _fuck_ those guys.” The marauders scuttling around behind the makeshift shelters aren’t Cerberus, but they are a good target for his grudge, so he leans out of cover to catch one of them in the chest with a shotgun shell. A quick tap next to him, and Garrus has overloaded the creature’s shields, leaving James with an opening to take it down. “I’m just saying. I’m _pretty sure_ that we pissed someone off, cosmically.”

Garrus wasn’t a C-SEC detective for nothing. He’s got some idea of what James is trying to do. He fixes James with a long look, something like gratitude in the softness of his eyes. “We do spend a lot of time getting shot at,” he agrees gravely. 

“We kill enough people,” James rationalizes. “Probably got lots of ghosts hanging out. Spirits -” That makes Garrus twist to look at him. James freezes. “ _Mierda_. Uh, not. I didn’t mean - shit.” He doesn’t need comms to hear Steve’s laughter over the roar of the water. “Hah, that was uh, super disrespectful. I’m an asshole.”

Garrus lays a hand on James’ shoulder. “Relax, I’m not terribly faithful.” He shrugs a little. “I’ve always been a bad turian.” His mandibles flare. “No comment on the, hmm. ‘Asshole’ thing.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” James says. The sky roars and the broken ship banks and shudders with the impact of more Reaper creatures. James grimaces when he hears the piercing shriek of a banshee. The Reapers are amping up their attack. Next to him, Garrus shifts, relaxation moving into readiness. “Hey.” He taps Garrus’ knee. Garrus favours him with a look. “She’s coming back, man. She always comes back.”

“Yeah,” Garrus says. When James doesn’t look away, he bobs his head. “I know.”

Together, they lift their weapons, and they wait.

 

 

He is getting way too old for this shit. James groans as he wakes, suddenly way too aware of the odd angle of his neck and the growing ache from sleeping with his face mashed into the arm of a couch. He can feel a hangover pushing at the back of his eyes, but he knows exactly how to combat that: breakfast. Ain’t nothing better than a big greasy breakfast to set you off on the right foot.

Okay, so, Shepard doesn’t have a ton of downtime to actually make use of the apartment Admiral Anderson gave her, but like, she could at least have a few basics in her fridge. James frowns down at the empty shelves. “Dios,” he grumbles. The hum of the appliance is the noisiest thing in the apartment this early in the morning, and he’s not surprised. Things got pretty rowdy up in here last night. He crashed on the couch and had to step over a snoring Prothean to get up, so that’s how he knows it was a good time.

But eggs, man. Best thing for a hangover. No arguments. Problem is, there’s no food in this place. “Alright,” he mutters. “Time to go shopping.”

He slips out of the building, a man on a mission. The Strip’s no good for basic amenities, but he manages to find a convenience shop a couple blocks away, and spends way too many credits on enough eggs for most of them. Can’t forget the dextro crowd, though. “Hey,” he calls to the front counter, and a sour looking salarian swings her head his way. “You got any like, breakfast food for turians or whatever?” The woman says nothing, just turns back to idly scrolling through a gossip site and he huffs out a breath. This shit is hard.

He ends up with a couple boxes of what looks like cereal, stuck near the eggs and marked as dextro safe. It’ll do.

No one’s up by the time he gets back, which is good, cause he wants space to work his magic. He starts pulling out pans and at first, he tries to be real quiet, trying to be polite. He figures he’s okay when he drops one and Zaeed, still draped over the bar, just snorts and mutters something in his sleep.

He’s got the first batch on when he hears footsteps coming down the stairs. “Something smells good,” Shepard says with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head. Her thick red hair is still rumpled from sleep, and she’s wearing the weirdest oversized shirt. She pulls at the collar and James realizes that it must be _Garrus’_ , and something about the intimacy of it makes his ears turn red. They’re no secret, not on the Normandy, but he figures she gets so little privacy, he might as well let her keep what she’s got. “Are you getting into trouble down here?”

“I’ll have you know, I’m a _great_ cook,” he protests, and he tries a fancy flip with the eggs as emphasis. It even almost works. Total success. “It was either the Marines or chef school for me when I was a kid but like, I don’t speak french, so.”

“And what a waste of those biceps,” she says. He flexes obligingly, and she grins at him. She looks relaxed. Fighting her clone aside, this shore leave has been good for her. This is the first time he’s ever seen her like this, loose-limbed as she leans against the counter next to him. Kinda gives him a picture of what she could’ve been, without the war and the soldiering and all of that. It’s strange. Sort of nice, but sort of strange. “I didn’t know you cooked,” she says.

James shrugs. “After my mom died, wasn’t like dad was gonna step up to the plate. I had to fend for myself.” He holds the pan out to her. “Hey, look after this for a sec? Gotta check on the salsa.” Hesitantly, she slides in to take his place, holding the flipper gingerly. He snorts. “Relax, Lola. It’s not gonna bite you.”

She’s got her eyes fixed on the pan like it’ll run away if she turns her back. “I don’t know if you know this,” she says, “but I am far better at shooting things than I am at cooking them.” 

She prods at one of the eggs and he has to nudge her hand away. “I never would’ve known,” he deadpans, and she breaks her vigilance for long enough to glare at him. “But hey, it’s kinda reassuring. The Great Commander Shepard isn’t great at everything.” He pulls the salsa off the burner and starts plating the tortillas. “Dancing and cooking.” An idea occurs to him. “Hey, what do you even do on dates, then? Find some goons and knock them out?” She turns red enough that there’s gotta be some truth to that, and he throws back his head and laughs. “Lola, you and your turian are _nerds_.”

“Am I dreaming?” James looks over at Garrus sauntering down the stairs. “How did you get her behind a stove?” Garrus spends so much of his time in full armour that it’s still strange to see him in casual clothes. It’s like someone took his perspective of him and turned everything at right degrees. “You know, for a while there, I was somewhat convinced she had a phobia.” The way his mandibles twitch is fond and amused. “Some great past tragedy with an oven.”

“I think you’re onto something there, Scars,” James tells him and when Shepard starts to defend herself, he puts his hand in her face. “No, military rations don’t count as cooking.”

“This is insubordination,” Shepard says, knocking his hand away and pointing at them. “Don’t think I’m not making note of this.”

As James slides a plate over to Shepard as a kind of peace offering, Garrus joins them in the kitchen. Even though he can hear the rest of the apartment starting to stir (Steve _definitely_ shared a bed with Kaidan last night and James is _definitely_ gonna give him shit for it), it still feels kinda nice. Just the three of them in here, right now. He watches Garrus prod at an egg yolk with one talon while Shepard yanks her plate away, and he smiles. 

It’s kind of weird. It’s been a long time since James really had this kind of connection with people. Since Fehl Prime, probably. He’s spent a couple of years running away from his past, and running into a fight, and it’s strange to stop and think that maybe he doesn’t wanna be doing that anymore. He’s got faith that Shepard’s gonna bring them through this, but even if she doesn’t, this is right where he wants to be. Maybe Anderson and Shepard were right about him after all.

Shepard digs into the breakfast and James leans back, raising his eyebrows. “Shoulda gone pro, no?” he says, and her only reply is an incoherent groan as she shovels it into her mouth. “My abuela’s huevos rancheros _always_ please.”

Garrus shares a fond look with James. “That’s our girl,” he says dryly. “Ever the graceful and ladylike one.” After a moment, he frowns. “I don’t suppose you made anything for me, did you?”

“Uh.” James gestures at his purchases. “Maybe?” When Garrus holds up the weird dextro cereal he’d found, a long-suffering look on his face, Shepard breaks into peals of laughter. “What!”

She’s laughing so hard she can barely speak. “That’s - that’s a _dessert_ ,” she manages.

Garrus’ shoulders shake with laughter and James just figures he’ll write this one off. “Hey,” he says. “Breakfast of champions, no?” 

Garrus concedes the point, elegantly inclining his head. “When you’re right, you’re right,” he says, mandibles flaring in amusement. As Shepard turns back to her food, Garrus taps his talons against James’ elbow. “Thank you for thinking of me, though.”

It sets off something warm in James’ gut. “Hey, yeah, no problem.”

The moment is broken when Jack tumbles into the kitchen, already skirting around him to stick her fingers into the cooking pan, but it doesn’t matter much. Sure, they’ll have to split soon, head off in their separate directions to do their part, but James is pretty sure he’s gonna carry this with him, snug in his chest, until the end of this goddamn war.

 

 

James’ ears are ringing. He can feel the slow drip of blood down beneath his chestplate and it’s so hard to breathe. He can barely make out Shepard’s voice, screaming for an evac, and she’s right beside him. “Where’s my gun?” he mumbles. He bends over to feel around for it and Shepard shoves him back against their makeshift shelter with an impatient hand. “I need my gun.”

Next to him, Garrus’ breathing is a horrible, wet wheeze. He doesn’t say anything.

“Come on,” Shepard shouts. “We need to go.”

The world staggers under James’ feet as he struggles up. It’s absolute insanity. The roar of the Reaper’s beams is deafening, and his brain works to keep up with the brutal speed of the destruction. As he watches, a soldier races desperately towards the Conduit only to be obliterated mid-step, her hands reaching out to her destination. _It’s impossible_ , he thinks. _There’s no way -_

Shepard grips the back of his collar and yanks him back, almost shaking him like a disobedient dog. “We _need_ to _go_ , James,” she yells in his face. He manages a nod, wiping at the blood in his hairline, and they’re going in the wrong direction, but he hobbles after her.

The Normandy swoops down dangerously low and Shepard drags the two of them up into the shuttle bay before she stops James. “Here,” she says, and her voice wobbles. “Take him.”

James hurries to shoulder the solid weight of Garrus’ body, Garrus’ arm slung over his shoulders and his wrist in James’ good hand. “Shepard?” James says. He’s got a slow dawning idea of what’s happening right now, and he doesn’t want to believe it.

“You’ve gotta get out of here,” Shepard says, not quite meeting his eyes. 

All around them, the battle still rages, but James can only think about the three of them, right here. “Bullshit,” he snaps, furious, in the same moment that Garrus gasps, “You have got to be kidding me.” He feels Garrus’ talons curl into a fist, and James knows how he feels. He can’t believe that she’d do this to them. Well - to Garrus, especially. He turns to look at Garrus, and the agony written all over his face makes James’ breath catch for entirely different reasons. This isn’t fair.

“Don’t argue with me!” Shepard says, but there’s a pleading note to her voice. She’s got her helmet off now, and her thick red hair is matted with sweat and blood and dust and James _hates_ the expression on her face. Resignation, fear, sadness. She knew this is how it would play out. She didn’t want it, but she knew it was coming.

Well, she doesn’t have to go alone. “I can still fight,” he insists, even as Garrus’ unsteady weight shifting against him makes him groan with pain. He tries to grip at Garrus’ waist with his right hand, but all he can feel from it is knives and agony. He doesn’t wanna think about it too hard. “Just gimme my gun.”

Shepard’s hand presses against his wrist. “I need to know that someone’s getting out of this alive,” she says, voice quiet against the cacophony around them. 

“We’re in this til the end,” Garrus says, subvocals strained with pain and fear. Dark blue is seeping through his armour at his cowl. He’s trying to straighten up, stand on his own, and it pitches the two of them forward a few steps. 

Shepard walks up and curls her hand against the scarred part of Garrus’ cheek. “No matter what happens here, know that I love you. I always will.” James wishes they had more time. Time for a real goodbye, just… _more_. His heart aches.

“Shepard, I - I love you too.” It’s heartbreaking, the way that Garrus still holds her hand out to her, even as she steps away.

The hardest thing James has ever done is watch her square her shoulders, turn back towards the Conduit, and run. “This is bullshit,” he mutters again under his breath. He can feel hot tears pushing at the back of his eyes. It’s not fair that she could give so much to win this war and yet it still wasn’t enough. He let the Alliance soldiers help him with Garrus, and they head up into the shuttle bay proper.

Garrus doesn’t say a word. Not when James is helping Chakwas pry off his ruined armour and there’s blood everywhere, dark blue making James’ fingers tacky and dripping down his wrists, mixing with the red of the ruin of James’ hand. Even with the dampeners, James can feel the Normandy bank and twist as Joker maneuvers them away from the immediate danger. Chakwas, bless her, is efficient and quiet as she cleans Garrus up. 

Now, all they’ve got to do is to wait. James pulls himself up onto one of the cots and waves Chakwas off, setting himself the task of getting his busted chestplate off. It hits the medbay floor with a clatter and when he looks up, Garrus is watching him steadily, bereft. 

They’re both good soldiers. They know that winning this thing, it comes before everything. Shepard knew it, too. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. James knows it feels like something’s been torn from his chest, something vital, something he’ll never get back. He can’t imagine how much worse it must be for Garrus.

There’s nothing he can say that won’t sound like a platitude. He remembers the empty bullshit people said to him after Fehl Prime, how angry and upset it made him. So he doesn’t say anything. He just meets Garrus’ gaze and flexes his good hand, sticky with their mixed blood, and tries not to cry. 

Once she’s done patching them up, Chakwas stands in the doorway for a moment, looking at the two of them. “She’ll get it done,” she says, voice quiet. James manages a ghost of a smile at the absolute, unshakeable faith in Chakwas’ voice. “She always does.” She nods at them and then walks out.

They’re still in the medbay when the call comes through that the Crucible is live. At the sound of Admiral Hackett’s voice, James has a brief, shining moment of hope, but it’s dashed when he feels the engine powering up. “Spirits,” Garrus murmurs, lowering his head into his hands, “please.”

There’s an unmistakable sensation when a ship builds momentum for a relay run. James closes his eyes as the Normandy speeds up. Joker’s many things, but there’s no way in hell that man would leave Shepard behind if there were any chance to find her. Not after the Collectors. “Mierda,” James says, his voice half a sob, and the Normandy rockets through the disintegrating relay, away from her.

 

 

James scratches at the drying sweat in his hairline and looks up at the horizon. Sun’s going down. Funny how a couple of months of it can really dull you to a thing. On the first night, the beautiful sunset had been calming, hopeful. On night ninety four? Not so much. He hitches up the bag on his shoulder and heads back to the Normandy.

The repairs are getting close to done. Since Kenneth and Gabby managed to cobble together a mining rig from the scavenged pieces of a shuttle, they’ve sped things up a ton. Which is great, because he’s real ready to quit spinning his wheels on this planet. Thank God for their QEC. The updates from the rebuilding on Earth are all that keeps most of them going, honestly. Feels like they’re living a century and a half in the past, crowding into the war room to listen when Kaidan makes a call.

Could be worse, though. Tali rigged him up a new metal hand, the crew all made it, and thanks to the calls, they know that all the fighting, everything they did, it paid off. Reapers are gone. 

That, y’know. It’s gotta count for something.

He passes his haul off to Bethany in the kitchen. “Kinda small today,” he apologizes, but she waves him off, pulling out his catch. “Hey, you seen Kaidan?”

“Not in a few hours,” she says, and she grimaces. Not at the catch - Bethany’s turned out to be the best at skinning the (slightly weird but still edible) game they caught - but at the answer. “I think he and Traynor are working on that busted long-range communicator again.” 

James shakes his head. “Dios,” he says. “Okay, cool, thanks.”

He heads up to the CIC and finds the two of them bent over a mass of wiring under one of the haptic controls against the wall. “I’m sorry, Samantha,” Kaidan says, leaning back and rubbing two fingers against his forehead. “I’m not much help with this.” He squints his eyes even in the dim light of the CIC. Migraine. Pity he won’t let Chakwas give him anything for them anymore. Doesn’t want to waste it. “I think maybe we should call it a day.”

Samantha sighs, and her eyes slide over towards the head of the ship. Nobody spends much time in the cockpit anymore, nobody but Joker. James tried to say hi a couple times, but he’d mostly gotten his head ripped off for his trouble, so he quit trying. Sometimes, you just gotta let a dude grieve.

“Hey, Alenko,” James calls, and Samantha gives him a smile as he approaches. “Need to chat logistics. Got a sec?”

Kaidan hesitates. Yeah, the migraine’s bad today. James wonders if it’s the atmosphere on this planet. Hard to tell with their sensors still on the fritz. “Yeah,” he says finally, reluctantly, rising to join James. Samantha drops to fold herself up next to the wiring, that little determined dip between her eyebrows making it pretty clear that this is a problem she’s aiming to solve tonight. “Let’s head to the war room.”

Kaidan’s been in charge since they shot through the relay. James is no expert on reading people, but it’s been one hell of an adjustment. After all, he was there on the original’s shakedown cruise. He was there when Shepard got the handover after her Spectre assignment. Between her and Anderson, those are some big shoes to be stepping into.

Considering they were pitched onto some planet in the middle of nowhere, he’s done well. When it became crystal clear that they weren’t gonna be able to just lift off and head home, it was Kaidan’s even-keel leadership that kept everyone focused, productive. In a way, having another disaster to work through was a blessing. What do you do after you win a war? Hell if he knows.

Right now, James is just focused on being useful. He’s got a datapad full of energy use numbers and he wants to make sure they’re on top of things. Gotta keep enough juice in the batteries to get them home, after all.

They spend a while talking through possible rationing situations and a handful of personal conflicts that have come up in the last week, but James takes a step back and stretches his back when he sees Kaidan’s jaw clench and his eyes flick shut involuntarily. “Alright,” James says, voice easy. “I’m beat. Let me handle the shit with Javik, and we can figure out the food situation tomorrow. Sound good?”

Kaidan gives him a grateful look. “Yeah, for sure.” He stands slowly, the tension still tight in his hunched shoulders. “And hey, James?” James pauses. “Thanks. You’ve really stepped up and been a huge help, and I’m grateful.”

James hasn’t really thought about it that way. Mostly, shit just needs to get done if they wanna get off this planet, and it might as well be him. He likes to keep his hands busy, anyway. If he’s busy he’s not thinking about all the noise in his head, or the people who aren’t with them anymore. “No problem,” James says, and he means it. He smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

He heads back out through the ship, hoping to grab something to eat before all of Bethany’s cooking is gone. He might’ve been giving Kaidan an excuse to split, but he _was_ pretty tired. He’d been up with the sun on his hunting shift and he’s more than ready to hit the sack.

He steps out into the CIC and almost runs headfirst into Garrus. “ _Garrus?_ ” he gapes for a moment. “Mierda.”

Garrus says he’s a bad turian, but James isn’t so sure he agrees. Since they took a nosedive into this planet, Garrus has been helping with the repairs, just like everyone else. He knows it’s the important thing to do. Outside of work, though? Like a ghost. Silent, monosyllabic, and he disappears into Shepard’s cabin when he isn’t needed. No one blames him. Like Joker, everyone’s trying to give him the space he needs.

It’s hard, though. James misses his friends. “Hey, Scars,” he says. He’s trying to sound casual but he’s definitely falling short. “Been a while. How are you doing?”

He’s not eating, either. On the one hand, their dextro supplies are limited and they need to make them last. On the other, James has never seen a turian look so brittle and stretched thin. It’s scary. “Fine,” Garrus lies. Even his voice is fragile. 

Liara’s told him in hushed tones about how worried she is about Garrus, but how she doesn’t want to push him. James gets where she’s coming from, but he misses Garrus, too. So he tries. Drops in, makes sure he’s still getting some kind of sleep, a bit of food. It’s not much, but it’s something. “Hey, uh, you wanna hang out? Tali rigged this solar panel to power a little screen, we can still watch some vids if you want.” Garrus fixes him with one of those inscrutable turian stares, and James finds himself folding in a little, frowning. “It’s, uh. You’re spending a lot of time all by yourself, probably not good for you.”

“Not you too.” Garrus heaves a sigh. “I told you, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

Worry James does, though, despite himself. “Yeah, okay,” he says. It hurts more than he’d expected. Just cause he’s been keeping busy doesn’t mean it’s been _easy_ for him, either. They’re all carrying a lot of weight right now, and the last thing he wants to do is add to it. But he’s still got that empty ache in his chest and sleeping is harder than ever and he’s feeling lonely, even in their cramped quarters. It’d be nice, just to have a shoulder to lean on, right now. That’s probably selfish, though. “Just, uh, I just wanted - never mind. Sleep well, man.”

He turns to go, but in the empty CIC, Garrus reaches out a hand and stops him. “James?” he asks, his mandibles shifting. James waits, but Garrus drops his hand and shakes his head. “You too.” He disappears again, up to Shepard’s cabin.

James laughs a little in the empty CIC, bitter and tight. Well, maybe he’ll still be able to grab some grub while it’s hot. 

 

 

When he jerks back into consciousness again, it takes James a solid minute to get his breathing under control. He stares at the ceiling of his bunk, his palm flattened over his heart, and feels his heart slow. He misses his chamomile tea. 

He rolls out of bed and pads out of the crew quarters into the darkened mess. He’s the only one up here tonight, which is kind of great, because he hates being around people when he’s like this. With the power dimmed and the ship mostly empty, he’s sort of reminded of that last minute run from Earth, all those months ago. Kinda eerie. A cruiser like this isn’t supposed to be empty, or near-powered down. It’s unsettling.

James settles himself on a table, staring down towards the battery. The air is cool and it chills him, makes him hunch his shoulders and clench his hands. He can’t help but miss Shepard, tonight. As strange as it is, in the too-quiet Normandy, he still feels like he’ll look over and see her sidling over, smiling, tired. He turns to the medbay, thoughtful, and that’s when he notices the light. 

He finds Joker, lit by an emergency lamp propped in a corner, folded over a piece of electronics pulled from one of the panels in EDI’s core. “Joker?” he says slowly.

“ _Shit_ ,” Joker hisses, flinching so hard he sends the pliers in his hands flying. “Jesus, dude, don’t sneak up.” The lantern light is unforgiving, casting harsh shadows on Joker’s already drawn and narrow face. It’s been days since James saw him and Joker looks like hell. 

“Uh, sorry,” he says. He doesn’t understand anything about what’s happening in front of him, and he’s not sure Joker’s a real expert either. Pretty sure he’s a pilot, not an AI engineer. “What are you up to?”

Joker’s shoulders are tense and he refuses to look up at James, just scrambles for the pliers and turns back to his task. “Replacing wires,” he says. He licks his lips, his hands still. “I thought maybe, you know, it could be a hardware thing. All I have to do is just, just find a wire -” His voice cracks and he breaks off. His hands are shaking.

James looks around them, at all of the technology he doesn’t really understand. Joker’s got a lot of work needs doing, if that’s his plan. He drops down to his knees. “You think you could show me?” he asks. Joker bristles, already ready to snap, but James just holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m not getting any more sleep tonight. Might as well make myself useful.” 

“You want to help?” Joker deflates again, wary and a little confused. 

“Sure,” James says. He thinks carefully about the way he says it. “She’s my friend too.”

“I - thanks, man.” Joker swallows, and then he gestures down at the board in front of him. “If Tali managed to teach me, then _you_ can do it too.” 

They don’t talk a lot as they work. For one, it’s not easy work, all tiny pieces and finicky connections. James is a little terrified that he’ll do something wrong, put something together wrong. It’s like they’re sitting here with their fingers in EDI’s _brain_ , and it’s so strange and scary, it keeps him focused.

But he can see why Joker’s doing it. James is just a grunt, and he’s kept himself busy the past couple of months, but he never feels like he’s doing the important stuff. He’s not the engineers, putting the ship back together, or trying to figure out what the pulse did to one of their friends. He feels like he’s treading water. But this, this is something vital. Maybe it’ll be the thing that works, maybe it won’t. It’s worth trying, though. 

They work together until James’ fingers are almost numb and Joker straightens next to him, hissing and pressing his hand against the small of his back. “Should probably go,” Joker says, yawning. “Go ahead and get some sleep, I’ll, uh. Put everything back together.”

James stands and grimaces at the ache in his knees. He’s getting way too old for this shit. Maybe when they get back to civilization, he’ll get some new joints. War hero privileges, right? Gotta be worth something.

“You are wasting your time.” Javik stands in the doorway, staring in at the two of them. James isn’t actually convinced that he’s got any expression other than disdain, but maybe he’s just shit at reading Prothean faces. “The machine is dead. You should let it lie.”

It’d almost be funny if it wasn’t so stupid. The same boring, tired argument, after everything that’s happened. James takes one look at the furious, agonized look on Joker’s face, and he’s just. He’s just _done_. His fist is colliding with Javik’s skull before he even realizes it, and then he’s standing over him, his knuckles aching and Javik blinking up at him, astonished. “I’ve had about enough of your shit,” he says, voice shaking. Behind him, Joker is silent. “Your cycle is _over_. Your glorious empire lost. We _won_ and we did it with EDI’s help. So _enough_.”

It takes him a moment to realize that they’ve drawn a crowd. The first of the morning shift is trickling into the ship, and he winces when he sees faces peering in at the medbay doors. 

(“Isn’t it a bit early for a fist fight? Although, I suppose this _is_ the Normandy. We have a great deal of fist fights here.”

“Kenneth. Go. We have work to do!”)

Worst of all is Garrus, tipping his head, watching him carefully. James rubs a hand across his face and sidesteps Javik, pushing out into the hallway. When Garrus catches his arm, James pulls away. “Hey, if you see Kaidan, can you, uh, tell him I’m taking a personal day?”

“James.” He turns. Garrus’ mandibles flutter in concern. “Are you…? Hmm. Let me try that again. How about that vid?”

James opens his mouth and closes it. Garrus hasn’t spent time with anyone at all since the Conduit and the pulse, and that includes James. “What, now?” 

“You seem like maybe you could use the distraction.” James glances back at the AI core. Javik is staring at him, expression a mix between outrage and impressed. Joker, naturally, is ignoring him, focused on finishing the task at hand. “Did I misread that?”

James snorts. “I just knocked a guy down,” he says. “Pretty hard to misread that.”

It’s been a while since he’s seen that particular fond flare of Garrus’ mandibles. He’s missed it. “Come on.” Garrus gestures off the ship with a jerk of his chin. Maybe he’s got a point. Maybe James is getting a little stir-crazy, and that’s what this is all about. “Let’s get out of here.”

James follows him, flexing his bruised hand and smiling for once. “Now that is a plan, Scars.”

 

 

“Dios,” James says, leaning over Joker’s seat. “That’s a beautiful sight.”

“You said it,” Joker agrees.

He’s opened up the shutters and Earth, familiar and bright, is right _there_. James doesn’t think he’s ever been so excited to see something in his life. She’s still scarred from the Reapers, and even up here he can see the devastation. It’s incredible to think that this was all only after a few months. 

Above the Earth, it looks like they’re building a new space station, fragments of the Citadel combined with new tech. It’s taken them a couple of months to make the trek back to civilized space, and there’s something really cool about how the rest of the galaxy has wasted no time putting things back together. 

“Glad to be back?” James asks, looking behind him.

Garrus stands with his hands folded behind him, head tipped back to watch their approach. “It’ll be nice to get some real food,” he admits. He still looks brittle and pale, but he’s been spending more time around people during the trip. Or, well, James and Tali, at least. His mandibles flutter in apprehension, a tiny movement that James isn’t sure anyone else picks up. “But it’ll be strange, being here.”

Without her, he means. James nods. Garrus spent most of the past couple of years at Shepard’s side and being in human space without her will probably be weird for him. “Just think,” James says, stepping back so he can nudge Garrus with an elbow. “You’ll get to see new faces again.”

Garrus hums, his subvocals fond. “Some of the old ones aren’t so bad,” he allows, and James grins at him.

There’s already chatter on the comms, and everyone with a functioning omnitool is getting pinged with message after message now that they’re finally within range. “Garrus.” Liara’s voice is strained and urgent. “I just got a message from Miranda. You need to hear this.” Garrus charges out of the cockpit before Liara has even finished speaking, waving an impatient talon at James to follow. Surprised, James blinks and then he’s at Garrus’ heel as they head down to Liara’s quarters. 

Liara has Miranda up on the vidcom, the two of them waiting. “Garrus,” Miranda nods to him. She looks uncharacteristically nervous, fidgeting with a lock of her hair. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you earlier, but at first, we weren’t even certain it _was_ her, and then it was so touch and go -” James’ heart just about stops in his chest. There’s no way.

“Wait,” Garrus says sharply. “What are you saying right now?”

“She’s alive, Garrus,” Liara breathes, and Garrus sucks in a shuddering breath. “They have her in a facility near London. Miranda’s been working with her.”

Miranda laughs nervously. “I mean, she is mostly my handiwork now.”

Garrus swings his head to face James, and James doesn’t know what to do, so he just reaches out and squeezes Garrus’ shoulder. “This is real, Scars,” he says. “This is happening.” Garrus just gapes at him, wordless.

“We have, of course, arranged for immediate transport to the facility,” Miranda continues, and James is only half listening. He’s trying to gauge if Garrus is going to faint, or start crying or what. He’s not even sure that turians even _can_ cry. “The information is not yet public knowledge, so this will have to remain confidential…”

Liara is laughing, wiping tears from her face. “Trust Lola to survive getting a space station dropped on her,” James says. He feels almost numb, like it hasn’t quite hit him yet. He’s spent months adjusting to the idea of an existence without her, trying to put himself back together. Now he’s gotta start all over again. 

Garrus grips James’ hand and stares at Miranda. “You’re sure it’s her?” he asks, and James winces when he remembers that this isn’t the first time that Shepard’s ‘died’, and the last time Garrus went fully off the rails. James doesn’t blame him for wanting to be certain.

“Certain.” Miranda looks at Garrus and nods. “I would recognize that woman anywhere, at this point, but I’ve been helping the doctors for several months. It’s her, Garrus. I’d stake my life on it.”

“Joker?” James calls. “What’s our ETA?”

“We’ve got another half hour while they clear the docking bay. Why?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Miranda says. Someone out of frame calls her name, and she turns to reply. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you then.” She smiles, but it’s Garrus she’s looking at. “It’ll be nice to see you all again.”

Garrus is still not talking, but he’s breathing too hard and his mandibles won’t stay still. He’s freaking out. James gets it. If he’s feeling this unreal sense of elation himself, it’s gotta be twice as much for Garrus. “Half an hour,” James says quietly, and Garrus just stares at him, unsteady and disbelieving. “We’ll see her in half an hour.”

It’s somewhere in the area of thirty five minutes by the time they’ve landed, not that James is counting. There’s a mob waiting for them, press and people just wanting to get a glance at the legendary Normandy, home again. Garrus doesn’t even give them a minute of his time, just sweeps past, through the docking bay to the exit. He pauses there, hesitates, and James takes the lead. He’s never been here, but Alliance buildings tend to follow the same structures. “C’mon,” he says. Behind them, Kaidan is playing the dutiful hero, and Allers has stepped up to talk to the media. Bless her for that.

They find Miranda waiting down at the entrance, hovercar still running. “You’re late,” she says, by way of greeting.

“I know,” Garrus says, and the harshness of his subvocals cuts off any further conversation. 

The transport pulls up at the facility and Garrus is already climbing out. James has to run to catch up. He’s also gotta give a drive-by apology to the woman working the front desk as they barrel past. “Scars, hey,” he calls, chasing after him. “ _Garrus_.” Garrus spins to look at him. “Maybe we should be waiting for the lady who actually knows where she is?”

Back at the front desk, Miranda is approaching. “This way,” she says, and she gestures down a corridor marked Authorized Staff Only. 

From there, it’s easy. There aren’t many actual patient rooms down in this part of the facility, and Garrus stalks ahead, looking in each room and dismissing them like he’s still a C-SEC detective, clearing a building. James and Miranda exchange a look but say nothing, just trying to keep up.

There are guards posted at her door. One of them reaches out to stop Garrus, saying something about a clearance card, but when Garrus rounds on him he thinks better of the idea. James wouldn’t want to get in the way of a big emotional turian, either. 

She’s a mess. James is half-aware of Garrus dropping to his knees next to the bed, reaching for her good hand and pressing it to his face. He feels like he should be a good friend right now, say the right things, but mostly, all he can feel is relief. Even with how beat up she is (the shape of her doesn’t fill out the blanket like she should - flat below the knees), the sight of her just makes the breath catch in James’ throat. “Dios,” he says.

Garrus is perfectly still, holding Shepard’s hand. “You’re here,” he says wonderingly. James shifts on his feet and takes a step back. This should be just for them. He’s not sure he should be here.

“Consciousness comes and goes,” Miranda says, skirting around them to pick up Shepard’s charts and glance over them. “She has her lucid moments, but mostly she’s still healing. We’re playing the waiting game now.”

“It’s a good thing, though, right?” James asks. He doesn’t know anything about these things. He’s just a jarhead.

Miranda smiles. “Yes, it’s a good thing.” She replaces the chart and the two of them step out of the room again. “It was pretty dicey for a bit, but she’s been stabilized for quite some time and she is on the mend.” She gestures around them, at the sterile walls. “It’s not quite Cerberus funding, but I’ve done my best.”

“Thanks,” he says, and he means it with all his heart. He holds out his hand and she hesitates and then takes it, shakes it. “It’s been a rough couple of months. This was a hell of a surprise for him to come home to.”

Miranda narrows her eyes at him for a second, like she’s trying to puzzle him out. Finally, she speaks. “Of course,” she says. “I was happy to help. The first time, it was a job. This time, it was for a friend.”

James peeks in the room again, and Garrus has at least found himself a seat, even if he hasn’t let go of Shepard’s hand. “You’ve, uh, did you clear this?” He’s pretty sure that Garrus is just gonna camp out here until Shepard is out, honestly.

“I’ve handled everything,” Miranda assures him. “I’m very efficient.”

“Thanks,” James says again.

Miranda’s omnitool chimes and she gives him an apologetic look, walking away to answer her call. James is left alone in the hall, wondering what he should do. Coffee, honestly. Coffee would be nice. He hasn’t had real coffee in months. Should probably arrange for decent dextro supplies, too. If some of the relays are back up, they have to be able to get something shipped in.

He’s about to head back to the front desk when Garrus sticks his head out of Shepard’s room. “You’re leaving?” he asks, and he sounds strangely vulnerable. Something about it, Garrus making sure he’s still there, it does something funny to the pit of his stomach. 

“Was gonna see if I could wrangle us some food,” he says, and Garrus relaxes a little. “Just, uh, stay put, alright?”

“I’ll be here,” Garrus answers, a trace of his usual dry humour in his voice, and James gives him a smile. 

“Alright,” he says. “Coffee time.” Garrus slides back into Shepard’s room and James heads off to find caffeination. 

 

 

They trade off on Shepard duty for a few weeks. They’ve got other things to look after - the Alliance is getting real pushy about that N7 Program nomination he got, and the Turian Hierarchy is have started sending messages about Garrus returning to his duties - but Miranda was true to her word. They’ve got the access they need, and any time someone hassles them about it, well. She’s scary as hell.

Even with Shepard’s Cerberus cybernetics, the healing is slow going. She’s too tired to talk much when she’s awake, but man, the way she’d smiled when she saw Garrus for the first time, that was pure gold. 

James has spent a lot of time in uncomfortable hospital chairs, trying to catch up on his messages. His omnitool hasn’t worked right since the pulse happened, but Miranda and her amazing (vaguely shady) connections got him a fix, and since then, he’s just been swamped with mail. He’s starting to think he’s got an idea of what Shepard goes through. 

He’s debating answering a _really_ persistent reporter when Shepard shifts in her bed, her eyelids fluttering open. “Shit,” he says. Garrus is still napping. “Morning, Lola. Lemme grab Scars for you.”

The stitches in her face stop her from smiling all the way. “You still afraid to be alone with me, James?” she says, voice hoarse, and he sits again, switching off his omnitool. 

“You’re an intimidating lady,” he admits, just to hear her huff out a laugh. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Like someone dropped a bomb on me,” she says. 

He’s used to it now, but she looks it, too. New eye, and a new, angry red scar that winds from one temple to the other cheek. Another that pulls down the corner of her mouth. Miranda says she’s refusing to talk about cosmetic surgery. James thought it was pride until Miranda laughed and said that it was the _cost_. With so many other soldiers in need, Shepard didn’t want them spending Alliance funds to pretty her up, make her a vid-ready superhero again. And if she’s earned anything by now, it’s her privacy.

James scoffs. “You’re being real dramatic,” he says. “It was just a space station.” 

“Oh, my apologies,” she says. “Only a space station.” She pauses, and James knows what’s coming next. “Time and date?” Garrus says that she’s been asking him every time she’s awake. He doesn’t blame her. Last time she was this down for the count, it was two years. He wouldn’t want to lose that much of his life either.

“Not sure what time,” he says. “Ass O’clock in the morning, though, for sure.” He shifts in the uncomfortable chair. “June fourth. You’ve been out for most of the day.”

She nods. “Thanks,” she says. Her eye slides to the doorway. “Is he getting some sleep?”

“Yeah,” James says. “Talked him into it when he nodded off and nearly fell out of his chair. Told him that a hospital was a good place to break his head, but maybe he should try not to do that.” He’s looking better these days, for sure. Part of it is a regular source of real dextro food, but it’s also just. Her. He’s best knowing she’s there.

“Thanks,” Shepard says again. “For looking after him.” James ducks his head, but she waves her good hand at him, catching his fingers in hers. “I mean it. I love him, but his coping skills are..” She trails off and he’s got a good idea of how to finish the thought. 

“Not great,” James agrees. “But I mean, suicide by merc is one way to do it.”

“I’m glad he had you.”

And now he’s got Shepard again. He won’t need James. Neither will she. The thought is unexpectedly heavy. He drops her hand and leans back. “I, uh, I need some coffee. You want me to go get him?”

Shepard yawns. “No, let him sleep. He needs it.” She laughs a little. “So do I.”

“You’re really abusing those hero privileges, you know?” James says, and she smiles again, crooked and fond. “Sleeping all day long.”

He heads to the door but he pauses when he hears her shift and inhale. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says. She’s harder to read with only one organic eye, but she watches him steadily, affection in her smile. “There’s not a lot of people I want around me like this, but you’re right up at the top of my list.”

If it was anyone else, he’d figure it was flattery, empty words to keep him around. But Shepard, she sounds genuine and serious and despite himself, he grins at her. “Who wouldn’t?” he says. “R&D’s working on a project, trying to bottle up my charm, boost troop morale.”

“As they should,” she says gravely. She yawns again. “Go. Get your coffee. I’m tapping out.”

“Catch you later, Lola,” he says, and his heart lurches when she smiles again. Dios, he’s missed that. So much. 

 

 

James lets out a happy groan when they’re finally back in the crew quarters. “Bed,” he says, and he throws himself face-first into his bunk. They’ve been on mission for something like three days, and he’s so glad to be out of armour and in a place with a real bed. Practically luxury, honestly. 

He knew what he was getting into when he finally signed on for N7 training. He’d waited for the media to die down, which, y’know, took a while once it came out that Shepard was alive. Everyone wanted a piece of the woman who saved the galaxy, but she’s still got a lot of friends. A lot of scary, shady friends. A guy got into the facility once, and he’d ended up running headfirst into a very tired, very pissed off Garrus. James had watched him loom over the reporter while Miranda strode down the hall, flanked by a couple of large guards, and tried not to laugh. 

Now, though, Shepard is out of the hospital. She still has to meet up with Miranda a couple times a month, but she has shiny new robot limbs (Garrus has taken to calling her his ‘hot cyborg girlfriend’) and she’s up and about now. The Alliance furnished her with a nice little place outside of London, and she mostly just has to heal up. He’s pretty sure she’s losing her mind.

But, he does feel better about going off to do his own things. The rebuilding is continuing on Earth, and for New Arcturus Station, and it was time for him to head off to get things started. 

It’s been grueling. Like, he knew that going into it, but _mierda_ , he’s in pain. He shifts his head to the side so he can speak. “Ushigura,” he says, and from the next bed over, she hums in answer. “Ushigura, go on without me. But come back with food.”

“Get your own dinner,” she says, digging her knuckles into his head. “Hey. Looks like you got a message.” He peeks down at his arm, at the notification blinking at his wrist. 

A message is worth sitting up for, so he does, rolling off his bunk again to open it up on a real screen. They’re still working on repairing the comm buoy net, so it takes forever to get messages from Earth now. His last one came in over a month ago, just Steve and Samantha updating him on the London rebuilds, but it was so good to hear familiar voices.

And this is even better. “James!” Shepard’s voice is loud and fond. “I hope the training is going well. I bet you’re feeling just about murdered now.” She grins at him. “Aren’t you glad I talked you into it?”

“Holy shit.” Ushigura leans over James’ shoulder. “Is that -?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I told you I shipped on the Normandy.” She looks astonished. “Hey, you didn’t believe me?”

Ushigura shrugs. “You have one of those ‘Remember the Normandy’ buttons,” she points out.

“I’m hurt,” he says. She shrugs again.

Shepard’s doing a walk and talk, taking a stroll around the apartment while she talks about how annoying her physio is, the cool things her new hand can do, everything under the sun. James knows he’s gonna watch this message again and again on his downtime, so he’s not too worried about the specifics right now. He’s just so happy about how good she looks, her hair growing long over her eyes, the easy affection in her smile. After so long carrying the weight of the galaxy, she deserves this.

“Look who it is!” Shepard says, and Garrus slides into frame, hooking his bony chin over her shoulder. “I got the Hierarchy to give up their hostage.”

“I do have to go back to Palaven at some point,” Garrus says, voice dry, and she presses her head to his, eyes sliding shut. “This is your fault, you know. You’re the one who turned me into a good soldier. Now they _listen_ to me.”

Behind him, Ushigura mutters something about his ‘famous friends’, and he flaps a hand at her to make her shut up. 

There’s something really relaxing about listening to the two of them talk. It’s like, they finally get the real time together that they’ve always wanted. No war, no Reapers, no Collectors. Just them. He’s so happy for them. Makes him ache a little, but that’s not a feeling he’s planning on analyzing any time soon, so.

“Hey,” Shepard says, and she and Garrus are looking straight into the camera now. “We miss you.”

“Finish playing soldier and come back soon,” Garrus adds, his subvocals dipping low and quiet and warm. Videos like this, they keep him going.

The vid message finishes and Ushigura whistles. “Man, I heard about the thing with the turian, but I didn’t know you were getting a piece of the hero. Good for you!”

James immediately flushes bright red. “Madre, no, that’s not it.” His ears are burning. “C’mon, we’re just friends.” He feels like he’s a kid again, getting called on his crush and embarrassed. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I don’t know,” Ushigura says, a hand on her hip. “I mean, I’ve never been with a turian, but I’m pretty sure that was a ‘fuck me’ voice.” She socks him in the shoulder. “You dog. Hooking up with the biggest heroes in the galaxy. I didn’t know you were a star-fucker.”

“I’m seriously going to kill you,” he says, and she cackles, dancing out of his reach.

“I am so gonna tell the rest of the squad,” she threatens, and he didn’t think it was possible to blush any harder than he had, but here he was. “Look at you! You’re so red. What’s it like to be dating the great Commander Shepard and her turian boyfriend?”

“USHIGURA.”

“Just wait until the squad hears,” she laughs, and then she’s gone, out the door.

 

“Hijo de la chingada,” James mutters. His head thumps onto the desk. He’s torn between watching the vid message again, now that he’s got some alone time, or running after her to the mess, trying to do some damage control. Marines, man. They gossip more than kids do. 

In the end, his heart wins out, and he queues up the message again. He knows this game, anyway: the more he protests, the more they’ll needle him with it, and it’s pretty much a lost cause. He’d rather listen to their voices again, and figure out what he’s gonna send back. 

 

 

 

Okay, so, he’s totally not gonna be the one to say it first, but this is the _creepiest fucking place_. The light flickers overhead, illuminating the unsettlingly empty and silent foyer, and on the far wall, the haptic display shudders and blinks silently. The lab looks like it was emptied out in a hurry, or maybe ransacked. Papers everywhere, smashed datapads underfoot, and the chair behind the desk is overturned. James reaches behind himself to unclip his shotgun. “Uh,” he says, rolling his shoulders and glancing back. “Anyone else uneasy as hell right now?”

Shepard’s lips tip up in a dry smile. “Oh, definitely,” she says. “I’m about ready for something to jump out and go boo.” 

James still hasn’t quite adjusted to the new divot of the scar dug into the bridge of her nose, or the slightly luminous shine of her cybernetic eye, but none of them came through things without getting a little roughed up. She’s got her whole robot arm, Garrus had to regrow most of a mandible, and James got himself half a metal hand plus a whole bouquet of new scars. They’re all a little weirder now. But hey, they’re alive, too. Can’t complain about that.

“You know,” Garrus says, prodding at the shattered datapad at his feet with the tip of his sniper rifle, “you’d think that these labs would have better lighting. You know, for their great scientific advancements and all that.” His new mandible is a shade lighter than the rest of his face but maybe James only knows that cause he’s known him for so long. “This ancient fluorescent stuff is distinctly green and it is _not_ my colour.”

James disagrees. “C’mon, Scars,” he says, and he claps a hand on Garrus’ shoulder. “You’re the picture of a hero in any light.” He’s not really like, sure what passes for handsome for Turians, but he’s pretty sure Garrus has gotta fit it. He’s taller than James, something that he forgets every time, until he’s gotta tip his head up to meet Garrus’ eyes. Strong, too - he’s seen Garrus heft Shepard up to her feet in full armour without blinking an eye more than once. “I’m sure you got all the lady turians swooning.” Shepard cocks an eyebrow. “Uh, and the not-so-turian ones.” And okay, maybe some of the dudes too. James definitely isn’t gonna follow that thought to its conclusion. He flushes and is real grateful for his helmet.

Garrus lets out something approximating the turian version of a snort. “Thank you, Vega,” he says. “My ego is definitely feeling very soothed.”

“Stop that,” Shepard scolds. “Keep that up, and he’ll be impossible to live with.” She grins at James, and then her eyes shift to Garrus, something fond and unreadable passing between the two of them. As if James needs the reminder that the two of them are an unbreakable unit. He ducks his head, laughing. “He’s already a hop, skip and a jump from Primarch. He doesn’t need any help.”

“ _Maybe_ we should focus on the mission?” Garrus suggests. “That is, after all, why we’re here. _Not_ to make fun of the dashing and charming man on point.”

James spreads his arms wide. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “Ain’t nobody making fun of me.”

It’s good to be working with them again. Since he got his N7 qualification he’s mostly been shipped out in the Terminus Systems, cleaning up the pirates trying to capitalize on the chaos left after the collapse of the relay system. Travel in and out is still tough, and communication even more so, so it’s been a while since he’s really seen most of the old Normandy crew.

After Shepard was promoted to General, a move she fought, the bureaucracy stuff got a whole lot busier. James started getting messages almost every week while she was bored out of her mind. A woman like Shepard is never gonna be happy with press appearances and like, kissing babies.

So when reports came in of a hijacked Reaper corpse, missing scientists, and an outpost gone silent? She was all over that. She’s still a Spectre, of course, so technically she can do whatever she wants. And what she wanted was a ship, a gun, and her squad. 

It’s a nice change for him, too. He’s liked most of his commands in the Terminus, and the whole, y’know, N7 thing definitely affords him a good amount of respect. It’s not the same, though. There’s nothing like the Normandy, no one like Shepard and Garrus. So it feels good to be here now, falling into the old rhythms with his favourite people.

Even if this place is _creepy_ as _hell_. “You never take me anywhere nice,” James says. The halls are narrow and winding, carved into the depths of a meteor after the miners left, and it’s all kinda claustrophobic. They pass tiny windowless offices, each one a mess. There’s been a definite concerted effort to destroy every computer, too. Someone tried to cover it up, way too late.

“Next time, we’ll make sure to take you to a haunted beach resort,” Garrus says dryly. 

“Only the best for you,” Shepard says. She passes her omnitool over the next station. “Wiped, again. All I can find are traces of mentions of a Project Izanami.” She shakes her head. “And a couple of docking records.” Her face hardens, and he recognizes the same look on her face from Sanctum. “A lot of people came to work here. Few left.”

Garrus’ mandibles shift, uneasy. “Why is it that they always have to go for the atrocities?”

“Good question,” James says.

The worst part is, they have yet to find _anyone_. There’s a chance, of course, that they got wind that the Alliance was coming and cleared out, but James isn’t feeling too optimistic. This place has been tossed, and other than the methodical destruction of the computers, there’s nothing about it that looks like a quick escape. Something went down here. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t wanna know what.

Everything is going just fine until Shepard just _disappears_. One minute, she’s clomping down the battered walkway towards the next room; the next, there’s a deafening screech of metal and the walkway, and Shepard, are gone. 

“Mierda,” James shouts, startled, and half a step behind him, Garrus freezes.

“Shepard!” he bellows, his subvocals all tension and panic. It’s only James’ hand on his arm that stops him from charging onto the precarious walkway. It looks pretty worn out, but the main culprit looks like gunfire. The walls are peppered with it. Must’ve clipped a cable.

After a second, they can hear her hiss and groan from below them. “I’m alright!” she shouts, and Garrus inches forward to peer over the edge, one hand in James’ just in case. “Busted something in my leg, it’s completely nonfunctional.” 

She’s far enough down that they should be hearing her in their comms now, but all they’ve got is her shouting and crackling static in their ears. Great. Communications dampener in play, now. “You hurt?” James calls.

“No,” she replies. “One of the perks of the robot legs.”

James pulls Garrus back from the ledge. “Alright,” Garrus says. “She’s definitely incapacitated, and our direct route down there is cut off.” He’s tense, but he mostly seems irritated. It’s funny how easy it is to feel like you can take on the world, as long as Shepard is there too. 

“Okay, Scars,” James says. “Pull up those station schematics. Find us a route.”

While Garrus plots out their path, James takes a second to lean over the edge again. Shepard is sprawled in the wreckage of the broken walkway, thoroughly checking herself out with her omnitool. “Stay put, Lola,” he calls down to her, and she lifts her head to flash him a thumbs up. “We’ll come save you.”

“My heroes,” she replies.

“Got it,” Garrus says. He gestures back over his shoulder. “If we go through that set of doors, there should be a stairwell we can take. It’s a bit circuitous, but it’ll get us there.”

James claps him on the back. “Then let’s do it,” he says.

They head down the stairs and it takes too long to work their way through the next floor. It’s worse down here, desks overturned and doors broken in. “What happened here?” Garrus murmurs.

“Hell if I know,” James replies. He’s bending to look under a desk when he sees something _glow_ and he yelps, throwing himself backwards. “What _is_ that?”

It’s not a husk, which gives him a momentary relief. Garrus turns the body over with a nudge of his foot, and the two of them get a clear look at what exactly happened here. The woman (likely a scientist, by the labcoat) has no eyes, just empty, black pits. What caught James’ eye was the blue cybernetics lacing down her face and throat. “Well,” Garrus says. “That’s definitely Reaper tech.”

James takes the hand that Garrus offers and climbs to his feet. “How come nobody ever sees this shit and goes, ‘you know what? Maybe I _won’t_ mess with the creepy, fucked-up technology that’s gonna ruin my life’?”

Garrus crouches to pass a scan over the body. “She’s alive,” he says, and James stares at him. “Well, not living, maybe. I’m still getting energy readings from her.” His forehead plates shift forward as he thinks. “It’s like what we saw with the Cerberus troops. She’s somewhere in between, but somehow still active.”

“Like, inert? Like she lost the signal?” Garrus nods and James exhales. “So we gotta make sure that signal is never gonna come online again, huh?” 

“That’d be smart,” Garrus agrees. His mandibles flare. “That is what we’re here for, after all.”

James sighs. “I hate Reaper creatures,” he grumbles. Garrus knocks his knuckles against James’ elbow and then raises his sniper rifle, continuing forward.

Shepard is out of commission, sure, and there are creepy science abominations maybe wandering around them, but James feels more at ease here than he has in a long time. He remembers what Shepard said to him once, about Garrus having his back, and it still rings true. He’s the best person to have on your team.

Not bad to look at, either. 

James pauses mid-step at that thought, his brow furrowing as he turns it over in his head. He swallows and in front of him Garrus turns, head tilted. “Something wrong?” he asks.

Everything? “Nope,” he says, voice suspiciously high. “Just peachy.”

He really doesn’t want to think about this right now. It’s just that he’s apparently got a thing for turians now. Or, well, he’s had it for a while? Or just like. One turian. He’s done his best _not_ to think about this for a long time, even when Ushigura was giving him hell. It’s just, well. Not really a thing worth thinking about. Not when Garrus and Shepard were so happy and in love. He’d be hard-pressed to figure out which one of them he’s more jealous of, honestly. 

Now’s really not the time for this kind of crisis, but it’s like, once he’s started thinking about it, he can’t stop. He’s spent so much of the last couple of years following the two of them through hell, he didn’t realize his heart was getting so wrapped up in things. “Mierda,” he mutters, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Trust him to do this now.

They have to vault a table to move through a crowded, broken lab, and they find more of those burned-out corpses. James trips over one, fittingly enough. “I think we’ve found the scientists,” Garrus says, lifting its white coat with the end of his rifle. 

“Kinda wish we could lock the door behind us,” James admits. He’s always hated these creepy bastards. 

“Don’t worry,” Garrus says, mandibles shifting in amusement. “I’ll protect you.” Naturally, James’ heart does a backflip and he really, really wishes he could go back to not being aware he was pretty in love with two of his best friends. That would be way more convenient.

“Great, thanks,” James says, and Garrus laughs.

Following Garrus’ schematics, they descend further into the facility, and they start finding more and more of those bodies. Shepard can look after herself, no doubt about it, but that doesn’t mean that James doesn’t worry about her, still a dozen feet below them and without a working leg.

James is flat on his belly, lowering Garrus down an elevator shaft, when Garrus speaks suddenly. “You know,” he says. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

It’s not that things were tense, after the crash landing and the return to Earth, but the two of them, something had definitely shifted. It’s like, when someone sees you at your lowest, you gotta reevaluate where you are, where things stand. Turns out, they still stand together. “Yeah, me too,” James says, and he squeezes Garrus’ hand a little before he lets him drop to the ground. 

“We missed you when you were off fighting pirates.” Garrus reaches out to steady James as he drops. “I missed you.”

See, when they say things like that, it just makes things worse. “Yeah, well,” James clears his throat, focuses on prying the doors open. “Can’t have too many heroes in one place. Not fair to the rest of the world.”

“Sad but true,” Garrus agrees, and James throws a grin at him over his shoulder.

They’re getting closer to Shepard now, and to whatever the source of that mystery signal was. He can tell because when they open the next door, there’s a man standing in the room. He turns to face them in a single, animal motion, seeking the sounds. With comms down, they’re limited to hand gestures, and James signs for Garrus to plant himself while James approaches the man. Thing. Whatever.

It doesn’t attack. Even as James gets close, it just follows the sound of his movement with its head, arms limp at its sides. It’s like a man hollowed out, a shell ready for commands. “What do you think?” he asks Garrus.

Garrus approaches slowly, rifle still steady on the creatures head. “Remember how the batarians scientists were indoctrinated by the Reaper corpse?” he asks. “I think this is something similar. Like maybe the indoctrination still functions, but there’s nothing to take control.”

James frowns and prods the creature with the end of his shotgun. It wobbles, but doesn’t fall. “So,” he says. “If there’s no one at the wheel, what caused all that damage?” He looks around the room they’re in, some kind of mess hall. There are tables overturned and a smear of blood across the white tile, and that doesn’t generally happen by accident. 

“Maybe, someone was trying to exploit the connection,” Garrus says. He nudges James with an elbow and the two of them move quietly out of the room. The creature is still watching. “Like Cerberus did, except not to control the Reapers. To control an army.”

“Right,” James says. “Sounds like a solid plan. Definitely no way that could go wrong.”

“Come on,” Garrus says, mandibles flared. “Shepard should be just down here.”

She’s not. They round the corner to find the wreckage of the walkway, but no Shepard. “Why am I not surprised?” Garrus asks, and he kicks at the snapped cable. “It would really be too much to ask for her to stay in one place.”

They’re in what looks like a warehouse space, maybe something leftover from the days when this was a mining base. It’s as poorly lit as the rest of the place, but there are tracks in the dust on the floor. “Hey,” James says, and he grabs Garrus’ arm. “Found her.”

They follow the path through the big room, down a narrow hallway to a set of doors marked Security. Inside, Shepard’s propped herself up at the desk, poking at the controls of the still-functional haptic screens. “Hey guys,” she says. She’s munching on a field ration. “Took you long enough.”

“Hey,” James says, pulling off his helmet. He grabs the field ration from her hand and leans over the desk to peer at the screens. From here, she’s gotten a good view of their trip through the facility. Their creepy friend is still hanging out in the mess back there. “Being a hero takes time.” He scarfs down the rest of the ration bar just to make a point. God, these things are gross.

She holds out her hands and he helps her up, taking care not to jostle her busted leg. He’s been told the feedback is weird and uncomfortable. “So,” she says. “I’ve got my boys, time to go take down the bad guy.” 

_Her boys_. James glances at Garrus, and he’s looking back steadily, like he’s waiting for James to say something. When he doesn’t, he just stoops to gather up Shepard’s rifle. “I’m fairly certain we just have to blow the place up,” he says dryly.

“That counts,” she insists.

They take a moment to rest, Shepard’s arm heavy around James’ shoulder. “You alright?” she asks. “You seem off.”

 _I’ve come to the realization that I’m in love with you both, and I don’t know what to do with that._ “I’m fine,” he says, and Shepard raises an eyebrow.

“Alright,” she says. She hesitates, looking over at Garrus. They’re doing that silent communication thing again, and Garrus nods and James feels hopelessly out of the loop. “Listen, when we get back on the ship, I want to talk to you.” She looks at Garrus again. “We want to talk to you.”

James freezes, unable to figure out if this is a good thing, or an awful thing.

“It’s a good thing,” Garrus says, his subvocals a fond rumble. He walks over and rests his hand on James’ waist, leaning in to press his forehead to his. It’s intimate and warm and James is fairly certain that this is the turian equivalent of a kiss. His heart squeezes. “At least, I think it’s a good thing.”

“Look at him, all frozen,” Shepard says, and James turns to her, wide-eyed. “It’s a _very_ good thing.” There, in the middle of a half-lit security room, she tips her chin up and kisses him. He’s starting to get a pretty unambiguous view of what’s going on here. 

She pulls away again, and Garrus catches her wrist to steady her. It surprises James, how hesitant the two of them look, like they’re worried about what will happen. Like James could possibly get angry about this. “Am I hallucinating?” he asks, and Shepard squints at him, confused. “I mean, this stuff usually happens like. In my dreams.” Garrus exchanges a glance with her, and there’s a smile growing on her face. “And like, not in a creepy laboratory. Who even knows what we’re breathing in right now.”

“So, we’re okay?” Garrus asks.

“Oh yeah,” James says fervently, and Shepard throws her head back and laughs. “One thing, though.”

“Yeah?” Shepard says. 

“You waited to make a move until _now_?” James flaps his free arm around them. “In the _creepy lab_?”

“It’s tradition,” Garrus says, and rumbles out a laugh as he and Shepard look at each other. Okay, that is super not fair. When they get back to the ship, he is definitely making them explain that.

 

 

“And the good guys save the day!” James snorts as Skinner whoops, pumping her fist in the air. She’s got something smeared across her chestplate, could be blood, could be something even less savoury, and she looks elated. Ah, the enthusiasm of youth. “That was awesome.”

“Sure,” James agrees. He taps the shuttle open button and waves his squad onto the ship. “Pirates, definitely legendary.” He counts heads as he watches them go through. All accounted for - a good mission. They’re on loan to Palaven, rooting out pirates and separatists, and it’s not glamourous work, but it keeps them busy. Lot of people using the aftermath of the war to take advantage of vulnerable folks, and James is more than happy to stop that. He likes working with turians, too. Feels like working with Alliance, except everyone is hardcore and tall and birdlike and could tear his throat out with their teeth.

Not that they would. Obviously.

“Ugh, we get it, Commander,” Skinner groans. “You helped save the galaxy with Shepard, killed a bunch of Reapers, blah blah blah.” James raises an eyebrow and she huffs. “Sir.”

It’s...strange, being in command now. Mostly because it feels like a good fit. Took a while to get there, but it’s the truth. The N7 badge helps, obviously, and his history. The first command he had, he got cornered by some breathless private, wanting to know everything about the run to the Conduit, and it startled him to think that he’s on the other side of things now. Was he that embarrassing with Shepard? Damn, he hopes not.

After his commendation ceremony, the Alliance had mostly shipped him out on diplomatic missions. Not the kind of garbage that Shepard gets, where he’s gotta place nice with politicians, but the kind where he got embedded with a turian unit cleaning up the Terminus Systems.

Then came this. He’s been working with his squad for a couple of months now, and they’re getting pretty good. They’ve been paired with a tech team from Palaven, but naturally, they had to meet up in a pirates nest. The turians had held their own until James and his squad had come to give them a hand, which bodes pretty well for how they’ll work together.

The turians are last on board. Four of them, and the last gives him a nod as the shuttle door closes behind them. “Good to go, Tilani.” The pilot nods, and they lift off.

The last turian pulls off her helmet. “Thanks for the rescue,” she says. James recognizes the silver-grey of her carapace, the blue of her tattoos. There’s _no way_... “We thought we’d cleared them all out last month, but these thugs are like pyjaks.” She makes a grumbling noise of disgust. 

“Sure, no problem.” He’s gotta be mistaken. Maybe he’s just still bad at telling turians apart. Hell, maybe he’s just missing a certain tall and handsome one. It’s been a long time since he got home. “I’m Commander James Vega of the Alliance.”

She tips her head, her mandibles flaring. “Oh really?” she says, and her subvocals are mischievous. Oh no. “Trust us to meet like this. Garrus has _never_ been good at sharing his toys.” The similarities are glaring, now that he’s sure he’s not seeing things. She’s got his height, his colouring, and the same dry sense of humour. This is Garrus’ sister, for sure. 

James freezes, suddenly very, very aware of the rest of his squad at his back. “Solana, I assume?” His voice is squeaky. This is really not doing anything for his authority right now. “I, uh. Nice to meet you?” It’s not like he never wanted to meet Garrus’ sister, it’s just that, he imagined it would happen when all three of them managed to make their schedules line up. And also not when he’s got turian blood on his face. And also probably Garrus would’ve been there. That seems key.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Solana says, and James can feel a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. He feels like this is maybe not the type of thing that should be happening in a shuttle surrounded by his squad. “When Garrus bothers to call, all he can talk about his his humans.”

The thought makes his chest warm, although he’s not really sure how true it is. The thing between the three of them is new, so new he’s not even sure half the old crew knows. It’s not fragile, though. James has spent so much time married to the Marines, he’d thought that maybe this would be too complicated. He was afraid that taking his first real stab at a relationship with two people as important to him as Garrus and Shepard would just end in disaster, but it’d just felt natural. He’d joked once that it felt like they’d all been together for a long time, and the look that Garrus and Shepard had exchanged had made him laugh out loud. He _would_ just stumble into a relationship.

“I hope it’s all good,” he says, and he tries out a smile. Her mandibles flicker in response. 

“Of course,” she replies. Her subvocals are amused. “He always did like the competent type.”

James chances a look behind him, and his entire squad _and_ Solana’s are blatantly watching the two of them. Skinner has her chin propped in her hands. Of course. He sighs. “Well,” he says, shifting his shotgun in his blood-sticky hands. “I guess we’ll have a lot to talk about.”

“Oh, we _will_ ,” she agrees, and he feels faintly alarmed. “I’ve been waiting for someone to tell me all of his dirty little secrets.”

Why is it taking forever to get back to the ship? Are all of the Vakarians this intimidating? “Dios,” he mutters. 

“Don’t look so scared,” she says, and her lieutenant covers his laugh with a cough. “We’re going to be great friends.”

He is definitely calling home soon as they dock. Maybe he can redirect her with Garrus, instead. He knows she thinks he doesn’t call her enough. “Great!” he says weakly. He’s definitely going to give up all their secrets. He’s not very good at telling a Vakarian no.

“I look forward to working with you,” Solana says, and he knows she’s teasing, but there’s a sincerity to her subvocals, too. Whether it’s Garrus’ good word or the mission itself, they’re at least starting things off on the right foot. That’s gotta count for something. 

Tilani calls out that they’re docking in thirty seconds, and James gives Solana a smile, this time for real. “Right back atcha,” he says. The turians had done well for themselves before they’d shown up, and, well, if he can’t have _his_ Vakarian at his back, another one is pretty good too.

If he thinks about it, it kinda makes sense. Everything else in his life has happened in a firefight. Might as well throw in a meet-the-family for good measure.

 

 

“Vega!” James shifts his bag on his shoulder and turns, grinning when he sees Ushigura. It’s been a couple of years since the two of them crossed paths. Heard she was working with the quarians to rebuild the geth. He’s surprised to see her back on Earth.

“Ushigura!” He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re looking good. How’s Rannoch treating you?”

He misses his N7 squad, sometimes. His guys now, they’re great, and he’s proud of them all, but there’s something about going through that grueling level of training that really bonds you. By the end, there was only a handful of them left, and he’s pretty sure he’d drop everything for them if they called. So, it’s good to see her.

“I love it, man, it’s _beautiful_ ,” she says. She claps a hand on James’ shoulder. “Heard you’re still working with the turians. Still hunting pirates?”

“Here and there,” he says. His duties have shifted, some, and he’s found himself getting more and more tangled up in the politics of rebuilding a galaxy. Helps, too, that he just happens to be living with a turian war hero precariously high up in the Hierarchy. “They set me loose for a few weeks, though, so I thought I’d come back home.” He’s not alone. Garrus is finding their luggage and dealing with some last minute paperwork. Turns out, he likes traveling with Garrus. Not the greatest shoulder to sleep on, but he’s always got good stories, and he can’t ever resist a game of cards.

“I’m headed back to Alliance HQ in the city,” she says, and she points a thumb over her shoulder at the cabs waiting. “Want to split a ride?”

James shakes his head. “Nah, it’s all good,” he says. He grins. “Girlfriend’s coming to pick me up.” 

She hoots. “Aw, Vega,” she says. “You finally managed to sucker someone into a relationship. Good for you!” Typical. 

He lets her slug him and he laughs. “You gotta have some faith, Ushigura,” he says.

“I’ve got the exact right amount of faith,” she shrugs.

He hears a murmur of noise coming from the front doors, and he knows his ride has arrived. “Hey,” he says. “I gotta go, but let’s get drinks, alright? On me.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You _must_ be getting laid,” she says. “That’s real generous of you.” 

Her expression shifts from suspicion to astonishment as she catches sight of something behind him, and then warm arms are wrapping around his middle. “Welcome home,” Shepard says in his ear as she squeezes him and then steps away. “Where is he?”

“Grabbing our bags.” James nudges her elbow and his grin just broadens as he basks in Shepard’s presence and also Ushigura’s _face_. “Hey, Lola, you ever meet Ushigura? We did training together.”

Shepard, ever the professional, sticks out a hand. “Nice to meet one of the squad,” she says. “Did he whine as much during N7 training as he did on the Normandy?” Even if it’s at his expense, he loves her smile. She stays close, the back of her hand brushing against his. Still knocks him out, that he can just reach out and touch her. He feels pretty damn blessed, honestly.

“More, ma’am,” Ushigura says. James tries to silence her with his brain, but as usual, doesn’t work. Ushigura presses a hand to her chest and mimes wheezing. “‘Oh, the air must be thin here’.” Shepard throws back her head and laughs.

“Your impression of me needs work,” James grumbles. He sights a turian head bobbing over the crush of humans in the terminal, and Shepard squeezes his hand. “Hey, so, for real, message me. We gotta catch up.” Shepard is already pulling him away. “But uh, right now, I gotta go.”

Shepard’s relationship with Garrus hasn’t been a secret in years, but she’s still not into the big dramatic gestures. When Garrus strides right past the two Marines to pull her close, she tips her head back so he can press his forehead to hers. “There you are,” she murmurs.

“Here we are,” Garrus agrees.

James sweeps the two of them up, one in each arm. Garrus can handle the luggage. “Alright, home time. Later, gator,” he calls over his shoulder to a gaping Ushigura. 

“Seriously?” she says. 

“Told you,” James says. He flashes a peace sign at her. “You gotta have faith, Ushigura.” Shepard throws her arm over James’ shoulder, and Garrus chuckles as they walk to their car. 

_Now_ , James is home.


End file.
